Speaking of the Dead 

The dead cannot speak, in fact the dead know nothing.  I mean, the dead is dead, right?  By definition therefore the ‘dead’ have nothing to offer. OK. Well, maybe maggots and beetles and such like, that Forensic  Techs. and Morticians or Medical Examiners and Students love to play with.  Oh and some children too.  I knew of a couple of kids who liked to poke and fry and dismember dead critters.  Maybe it was their parents drove them to it.


 Basically the dead are a thing of the past and should remain dead.

Yet we have people who have no life, i.e. dead people that don’t know they are dead, rehashing and digging up and otherwise exhuming and examining and discussing and talking about and referring to and calling on ….dear god….the dead!

What is it all about?  Why can’t the dead of all types just go rest in peace and leave the living, i.e. those who have life, to get on with the business of living?

I totally hate all dead.  Ok, mummies from the mountains of  “Peruvia” are welcomed.  I am not being hypocritical here.  These mummies have something to offer, like historical and cultural interesting and important stuff.  I would prefer people did not desecrate their ‘abode’ but I, yes, hypocritically here now, still enjoy reading about such.  Oh, how complex a human can be.

Getting back to the dead.  Dead places, dead spaces, dead people, dead dogs, dead cats, just plain dead lifeless non-breathing Exes.  Stay dead, will you!

You dead carcasses know nothing about what it is to be alive.  You are worse than robots or even puppets.  You cannot be programmed or manoeuvred into any kind of useful or entertaining purpose.  Your are, pure and simple, dead.  You cannot come to Life or bring life.

That, my friends,  is why those zombies who have no life are constantly referring to and speaking of the dead.  For goodness sake, they talk with the dead (their own kind and themselves) and about the dead, because they have no place in life.  They would love to.  They would love to be alive.  But they are not and can never be.  And this really pisses them off.  Nothing so much infuriates those zombie pretenders to life as to see or hear real people enjoying and experiencing life.  It is beyond envy.  It is a form of vicious loathing that speaks ill of the dead.

Put them in their graves I say.

Their stinking putrified tombs which they call houses or flats are stuffed with the detritus of a life never lived.  Their ‘abode’ unlike that of the beautiful mummies of the Andies, is hell hole of would have been, could have been, wish I had, wish I did/not, if only and…good god…death.  Their ornaments, trinkets, furniture and fixtures, utensils and even their food are permeated with their death breath.  They are worse and worse off than the dead who are now deceased but had life when they were alive.  This is what makes them so bitter—-with life and the living. They are aware that they never had and will never have life, and instead of accepting this fact (and ffing off the face of the Earth) they wish to hang around longing and hoping for what can never be.  How sad is that?

So, speaking of the dead, I say:  I will not speak of you.  I will not talk to you.  I will not entertain you.  I will not acknowledge you, because you are not.  I will not reference you in my life or its environs. I certainly will not worship or affirm you.  I will not raise you to Life, because I cannot.  I will not hear you, because I hear only those with life and something of value.  I will not feel sorry for you and cannot empathise or have sympathy for you.  I will, however, commit you to your graves.   RIP.

And as for Dalston Lane and Hackney.  Only time will tell.