Part 28 – Neurons Like Brandy - Chapter 5: The Henry Kissinger show

Neurons Like Brandy is a long running project of mine that I have been trying to finish for about 8 years. It focuses on a house in Brighton after the zombie apocalypse has passed, with flashbacks told by one of the remaining survivors every other chapter.

The chapter numbering is a little confusing so if this is your first time here and you are interested in reading more then I would recommend starting at the index where each of the chapters are ordered in the manner that they are meant to be read.

In this chapter Henry Kissinger return to talk weird shit.

Part 28 – Chapter 4 – The Henry Kissinger show

'Mortality is a horrible bother' is something I think to myself every day. Freddie Mercury once sang 'Who wants to live forever?'

The answer is pretty much everyone.

It is a delusion of the young and a wank fantasy of the middle aged that transforms into the deep regret of the elderly. In the latter's case it twists into the mantra of 'I wish I could turn back time'.

Nothing good happens by the time you turn 70 unless you think disount bus rides are a think to be excited about. What you can't look forward to is everything failing you, your mind, your bladder and legs just having enough of your bullshit.

I can imagine a bunch of people being happy to be zombified. Sure, you won't look good but you will walk and groan forever. As a concept you will be something other than worm food.

Certainly sounds better than wasting away, slowly but surely, in front of your loved ones as you wonder if there is an afterlife and if you are going to go to the good or bad part.

I have it on good authority that there is neither, by the way.

I think what must be the most bothersome is that you have to acknowledge you lack self woth. How crappy is that?

It makes me jealous of all those fuckers out there who used to get by buses, lightening, or something equally quick. They just go 'It's another beautiful day- oh shit, I am dead' and then they are done for the remainder of eternity.

There is no introspection, which sounds fucking fantastic to me.

There are too many moments where one might wonder if you 're lot in life is something that you value and whether there is anything you can actually do about it. Sure, there are a bunch of help books that will tell you otherwise but really most of that is nonsense that is done to pray on the truly insecure and hopeless.

I am not saying that I haven't lived a fruitful life. In fact, I am avoiding saying that by dithering by musings on everything else.

So lets get on with it shall we? I've spent a lot of time in hilarity but I am not sure I would ever call it fruitful.

Now, I am here. I am so hungry I can feel myself wanting to crawl up the walls and wishing that my brain would spontaneously explode just so that the excruciating feeling would just fucking end.

It isn't that I am scared of dying, why would I be? It is more that I am disappointed with the fact that my story that I tell you through the delights if radio is coming to an end. I haven't even got to the best parts.

I should probably blurt those out while I still can but then I would feel some resentment towards you, the audience, for being able to savour them when I will no longer be able to. Why should you get my forever young, Mel Gibson on a truck in post-Apocalypse Australia, pearls of wisdom, look at the world. It ended.

The human race didn't really stand a chance, so many predators, so many kin that were willing to bleed you dry.

Pride is the thing. It was all about pride, humanity was proud to have dragged itself away from the rest of the animal kingdom and learned to communicate, generate a stentorian mess that aproximated complex thought and then gone further, to the point where they believed they were bigger than the world.

They were too proud to believe that it came with a price. You cannot manipulate someone who doesn't need you. Like a sleeping Godzilla, they just tolerate you until they have no use for you and then they discard you when it is no longer within their interests or entertainment.

It is the reason I am still here right now. It has been an elaborate ruse to mislead everyone. All the while I have been rattling out the most inane shit and it has kept me alive. No one has knocked at my door because I've pretended to be stupid. The thing is, that has now taken shape as the form of my own type of pride. I was proud to be stupidly insane, to be insanely foolish, to be foolishly stupid.

Problem is that pride is still pride.

The earth is catching up with me it has seen my smugness and it wants me.

So, I propose this one last gesture. If there is anyone out there, I prostrate myself. I defenestrate my pride. I have an address, I need your help. I am going to die without you and I am not ready to waste away to dust.

Have you found a pen? Still looking? I can wait.

I can't wait. I have, at most, a week left.

So here is my abode. See you soon.