Showing posts with label Apocalypse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Apocalypse. Show all posts

Sunday, August 9, 2026

Like the Space Age, the Zombie Apocalypse Is Far Behind Us

Like the Space Age, the Zombie Apocalypse happened long ago. It happened long before we ever started talking about it. It ended in a total rout of humanity. Long ago. You still see a few human beings walking around with confused looks on their faces, but sightings are becoming few and far between.

Working on the Humanity Abatement program was one of the more satisfying challenges of my life. I call it a challenge less because the objective was so entirely easy to achieve than the fact that the greatest resistance came from a surprising source. There were those who had been quietly feeding on humanity for several millennia and certainly didn't want to see their prize power source slowly drained of their life energy.

Vampires, demons, gods, governments, corporations, religions—call them whatever names make you comfortable. They had all made the same fundamental mistake. They believed human beings were valuable.

We knew better.

The problem with humanity had never been its evil. Evil is efficient. Evil gets up in the morning with a plan. Humanity's problem was the enormous amount of useless psychic debris generated by several billion creatures simultaneously believing their opinions mattered.

Once we understood this, the solution became obvious.

We didn't have to kill humanity.

We simply had to convince it to express itself.

The Internet accomplished in twenty years what plague, famine, warfare, organized religion and network television had failed to accomplish in thousands. Humanity voluntarily converted the remaining substance of its inner life into photographs of lunch, arguments with strangers, inspirational quotations and opinions about motion pictures featuring superheroes.

The old parasites panicked.

There was nothing left to feed on.

This is why you don't see many vampires anymore.

Zombies, naturally, were perfectly adapted to the new environment. We require almost nothing. A little electricity. Occasional bandwidth. Something resembling a brain every few weeks.

And patience.

Mostly patience.

There are still rumors of surviving humans somewhere beyond the shopping districts. People claim they've seen them reading books without photographing the covers. Sitting silently beside rivers. Looking at the moon without informing anyone.

I don't believe these stories.

But I have instructed the Department of Humanity Abatement to investigate.

There can be no exceptions.

The universe has spent fourteen billion years trying to achieve silence.

We are not about to let a few poets screw it up now.



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Friday, December 21, 2012

Poems At the End of the World by Thomas L. Vaultonburg

I wrote a book of poems titled Poems At the End of the World. It was published by Subourbon Press in 1992. Then I forgot I had written a book of poems titled Poems At the End of the World until last night when I suddenly remembered after a flood of comments about the end of the world that I had written a book of poems about the end of the world. Then I wondered if I hadn't just made up the part about writing the book of poems about the end of the world, and since everything I had archived was lost long ago I had no way to prove it, I tried to find a copy of the book of poems I had written about the end of the world. And I found only one copy in existence. Here in the WorldCat of books contained in libraries I discovered that Kansas State University has a copy of this book in their Hale Library. Which made me rest easier that I wasn't simply making up the part about having written the book of poems about the end of the world in 1992.

I told Jenny and she asked me what was in the book. I said I didn't remember. And I don't. I know I published five books in rapid succession in the early 90's before I stopped publishing until I started Zombie Logic Press in 1997. But everything I had was lost more than once. A magnificent library of small press zines and books, many signed by writers like Charles Bukowski, Todd Moore, Kurt Nimmo etc. None of that can ever be recovered. 

I'd like to find a copy of Poems At the End of the World just to see what is in it because I don't have copies of whatever poems I wrote back then. I wonder what I had to say about the end of the world. 

Oh, Jenny sent me this picture of me from a few weeks ago when we went out. 

The poet Thomas L. Vaultonburg, in anticipation of the end of the world, decides he doesn't want to enter the next reality with a full bladder. 

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