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Walk Like a Zombie

21 December 2010

WALK LIKE A ZOMBIE

I can’t feel you anymore.  I try and find it, I search and I go to the places we once shared in our sacred sibling union, but I just stand there numb, but not quite dead.  Tonight I went to the HorrorPop punk rock show for all hallows your favorite scene for your favorite holiday flavor.  Surely I would feel you in the pit.  Charging fist flying in the air, I stand alone. Raging with the not-so-youthful generation of punk rockers, black socks and all, I don’t feel your energy anywhere.

        Your spirit use to rage out loud! Full of strength and determination you represented the misunderstoods. As I mingle in our bass thumping punk ballad roots all I want is for you to come, Newcastles in hand, and remind me of why I loved being your sister.  With the chorus I declare “I don’t want to let you die!” “I don’t want to let you go!”  And even as I shout with conviction I know it’s all over.  Time has wiped away all the feeling of you, and in no relived moment can it be resurrected.

        I rage on with Mrs. Day and Nekroman.  I get lost in the music that represented my past of college memories and winter wonderland adventures.  For a second I let go of control and allow myself to feel alive in the words of rockabilly lyrics, big bass jams, deep snare drum beats and pure punk riffs.  I welcome the irony of funeral flowers arranged in crosses and the Day of the Dead figures symbolizing rockabilly culture on this Halloween eve.  And in celebrating you, I accept celebrating my life, as having survived you.  I rage on! 

        Special guest Nekromantix continue the charge and I feel it to my core that this is a place I belong. This is my generation, my movement, my spirit and in searching for a piece of you I find the one lost soul I have avoided the whole way through.

        Tonight I light my candle for you in honor of Day of the Dead to celebrate those loves lost and honor your memory. I set up a picture of the last Halloween we shared.   I look deeply in the photo and you flash right through me.

        I remember the 6 hours I drove to surprise you as Carmen San Diego (I felt it assumed the clique of your wandering sister) and you new exactly who I was portraying. That night, you pulled off the classic Karate Kid Daniel Son in the shower costume and you were well on your way to torbackskiville–along with the second generation of party stoppers. All the primos together, cocktails in hand, representing in full affect the bond other families’ only envy. 

   As I light my Catholic inspired saints candle and display the assortment of photos I am only reminded of the fatal decision you made to hang yourself almost 3 years ago.  I want to look at this Halloween photo and remember the love that night, I want to jump into it and feel that loving embrace.  But the only scene that flashes before me is your black socks in torn up surf sneakers dangled lifelessly under the patio of where we shared every family occasion.  No longer is it love, but betrayal do you leave me now.  A lot of questions, with no answers and many misplaced emotions that leaves me searching for the root of you, or who you were; and not of what you’ve done!

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