Murderous Masses,

What the hell is wrong with my fingers anyway. I mean, they work properly all throughout the day, except of course, when I get down to writing something in my diary. Then all of a sudden they don’t know how to get the stuff floating around inside my brain to the blog connected to the bitter end of my keyboard.

Anyone else out there having this problem?

Of everything I’ve read lately about how to become a better writer, there have been few consistencies, but the one thing that resonates throughout all of them is to actually sit down and write everyday.

Writing more helps one become better at writing. Who’d a thunk it?

And deep down, I know it’s true. I have to write something every day otherwise I am not going to get any better.

In fact, almost every bit of advise that I give my nephews and niece revolve around that very premise.

Example:

“Uncle Zombie, if I start practicing magic again, do you think I’ll get better at it? Because my Dad says that I lost it and I should forget about it.”

to which I respond,

“Dude, if you practice something with enough consistency, you’ll always get better at it. No fucking doubt about it. If you do magic tricks all the time, you’ll become a better magician. And keep in mind, there’s nothing better for getting chicks than a little slight-of-hand. heh.”

Hey, there’s nothing wrong with a little *wink, wink, nudge, nudge. say no more.*

At twelve, I started playing guitar every day, and in short order I became a better guitar player. I’ve based my life on the principle that, regardless of the task, if I practice it enough, I can become become proficient in it.

I walk around the world everyday with certain notions about how humans should do shit. Upon examination, it reveals itself as arrogance, I’ve no illusions there.

But the question is this- Do I have a right to be arrogant?

Geez, see what happens when I write. I get all questiony…

–Obvious

Pulsating Pustules,

With all of my energies being focused on family, health, zine, and whatnot, I’m momentarily left with little time to journal anything substantial.

So for the interim, I give you Spelling with Zombies!

…[Keyboard solo to 'Call Me']… zzzzzz … snore …["Jet! Woo ooh ooh Woo ooh ooh']… zzzz zzz … drool …[Ashley Simpson]… !! Alright, alright!! I’m up!

Jeez!

Fucking JACK FM.

Today is my ‘reuniting’ anniversary! Marking four years since the glorious day that Eve and I re-teamed as the super-loving, hard-rockin’, geek-metal, couple of the century! A match born of the synchronous fires of fate!

I love you, Evie! Happy Anniversary!

Read Eve’s awesome entry about our reconnection here.

Souless Brain-suckers,

So, I was watching Celebrity Fit Club the other day, and I saw that Turturro guy on it. Not the famous one, the NYPD blue one. Jeff… no, Nick, I think. Anyway, he gets on the scale and does the whole self-reflection thing, and it turns out the he and I are the same height and the same weight. We’re both medium build dudes, and we’re around the same age too.

It did not make me happy that somebody so similar to myself felt the appropriate next step in his life was to go on a ‘Fat’ show!

The only thing holding me together was the fact that thanks to the J23ix2, I’ve been on the road to a healthier me for two and half weeks, and that me and Eve both agreed that he didn’t look that bad.

Still, it gives me pause.

Sixteen days in, if nothing else, I can easily say I’ve been consistent. My body hurts a bit, but it’s that good hurt which usually means stuff is getting stronger.

Please let it mean that stuff is getting stronger.

-Zombie