Drinking coffee zombies, or the friendly ghost that saved me from them

By Michael Sixto

I am always talking to a ghost, or a shadow; or a sort of presencconversatione… everywhere I go. Most people think I am crazy; in any case, the definition of craziness is so broad, also, extremely overrated. I don’t care what they think or say about me, they are the crazy ones! My ghost is warm and gentle and full of energy that flows over the heads of the drinking coffee zombies of the afternoon. What is an afternoon without a friendly ghost? I asked myself. Many years ago I walked another frozen lands and I met another zombies. Many years ago I read a book, sang a song, and escaped the unescapable. There was no her by my side. I had no ghost or shadow or that sort of presence. Many years ago I was that ghost and most zombies knew, but refused to admit it. In silence they continued to drink their coffees in the never altered shop. That is always the case; the story repeats itself throughout eternity and if they tell you something else, they are lying. There is no such a thing as originality or brand new. We all borrow from others what we truly think is ours. We have ideas that passed thru the heads of many years before we were born. This is not us, or them, or genuine or unique! All of these words came from another place, from another time and are as universal as the lies the zombies tell trying to convince you otherwise.

I am always talking to a ghost, to a shadow; to a sort of presence… everywhere I go.

 

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