I’ve been wanting to write a review of Reynard Seifert’s ebook ZZZombiezzz for what seems like forever now, mostly because I think it’s a great opportunity to talk about a lot of things I’ve been thinking about.
The text starts out with a series of observations that reveal an almost indifferent self-knowledge:
I’m afraid of the people who cut my lawn. I have a stack of magazines on my toilette-top that no one will read. I am twenty four-years obsolete. I have a patch beard when I try to grow one. I’m not Jesus, not even close. I’m a child, a loser, a menace, an enigma wrapped in a leopard-print coonskin pillbox coat wrapped in an enigma. I feed idiosyncratic birds in my backyard. I hate squirrels. They only love themselves. They are selfish beings. Their selfish nature reflects my own and it makes me sad. So I hate them. Sometimes my sh1t smells good – I know that’s weird, but really, it’s sweet like bread that’s been left to mold – usually it just smells like sh1t though.
There is no personal judgment here. What little traces of self-consciousness that seem to be linked to self-knowledge are entirely justified by the fact that he has no idea what’s going on – a mystery wrapped in a mystery, this is just how things are. He can see his nature reflected in other animals and form judgments based on how they make him feel, but as early as the next page we see the narrator is aware of his abundant contradictions and, despite this, is still utterly proud of his awareness. It is style, ultimately a selfless thing, that makes his eyes whir and language slang.
As we know from our own pop culture and its infinite network of subs, you don’t have to be smart to get hip. You can be hip ‘to’ something without having the slightest clue about what’s going on across the ocean or even the difference between real life and make-believe. Fiction may serve various purposes, but I think it’s always been a form of escape and in this way a remedy for real life. Not only does it take us away from a world that often seems upside down or cold, but it also gives us reason to hope, presents an alternate world in which we are not the central, most important thing, and reminds us that we do in fact have control of our lives. Fiction returns us to our world a bit smarter and more hip to IT.
What I want when I read is more color, a chance to see myself and the world around me in brighter, more convincing light. I like to be overwhelmed by someone else’s vision of reality and silenced into the most impressive humility. The classic authors imagined a parallel world in the same way that we might paint a likeness of what we see; they invested fictional characters with real human emotions and thoughts and brought them to life. It could just as well have been themselves or their friends and, in fact, as we become more and more modern the stories actually do become us and the people around us. The mix of journalism and fiction by Hunter S. Thompson is prime example, Henry Miller’s many ‘life stories,’ and creative non-fiction has exploded everywhere to the point that we have now become fiction. Sitting down to write and hoping to transcribe humanity onto the page we think “What is real life like?” but we do not know. We don’t know because so much of it is magical, undefined, up to us. To simply transcribe or render likeness is not enough anymore. We all know if you want to go somewhere you should stop looking in the mirror (I mean, check, you know, but get out of there!).
This leads to a problem I have with major fiction: it tries too hard to walk the line between fantasy and reality. Like if the author does something unbelievable the text is discredited. In fiction there are no rules. Better: fiction operates under its own rules. Why not destroy the line? If you keep talking you’re going to come back to it. Keep zagging! Entertain us!
he told me all sorts of things about his life, like how he was from myanmar and i guess the government there was really oppressive towards zombies or something? i dunno, i'm not a cartiologist. i don't pretend to teach a course in world geology, plus i made a hot pocket while he told me about it so I wasn't really paying attention, but apparently he moved to portland because he's a vegan and heard that there are a lot of vegan restaurants here, so he thought it might be a good way to meet people who were also vegan, but he complained that he found the 'vegan scene' here to be too 'uppity' and not really welcoming to 'n00bz.'
Not that 'n00bz' is an innovation, but to see it assist such a functional paragraph is neat + refreshing, just as it is to have, in the midst of a dreamy futuristic monstermusing, a manipulated reference to popular culture such as the Dylan song on page 1 or "the crest of a colossal wave that will never break" ----- the fusion of fiction that sometimes embraces nonsense with direct references to our most well-known realities is chilling and, I think, way more effective than a text that keeps to actual events or likenesses. I really like how in (e.g.) Absalom! Absalom! most of the text is simply being retold from one character to another, so we have a character’s interpretation of the events and not just the author’s. I recently came upon a definition of fiction (I forget where) stating ‘unless you’re talking about the thoughts of fictional characters, it isn’t fiction.’ We are no longer talking about what we are or about what happened; we’re talking about what we could be.
Reynard directly challenges the problems of plot and identity in ZZZombiezzz. The following passage is taken from almost the exact middle of the story:
the gulls turned out to be expert tour guides that sun-bathed topless whenever possible. we had a lovely vacation, actually. we rented a vw camper and some surf boards. we found a cast net and caught fish so easy it was like they was just waiting around for us to partake in their g0ddamn deliciousness - amherst decided to go pescatarian for a few days. it was really just everything i had ever hoped for. i sort of wanted it all to end right there, on that beach.
but i kept thinking that if we end the story there, then there wouldn't be any real resolution to our problem and the whole point of the thing would be lost forever. amherst argued that this impulse was merely a relic of modernism and that i shouldn't concern myself with 'that new school bullsh1t.' but i wasn't so sure it was bullsh1t - i mean, hadn't i set out to do something? hadn't i wanted to make amherst into a happier zombie? or at least a zombie that would leave the loft for a gourmet press-pot every once in a while?
We're at the edge here. The characters are conscious of convention and debate what should happen … as if it's up to them. Tidal wave! Step back. We are washed away from the characters' minds. Things will keep happening, we will keep questioning because this feeling recurs: Is this moment enough? Hadn’t we started out to accomplish something? Is it just a device of modernism that has us trying to sharpen our lives into story, or is this impulse innate?
He wakes up in Michigan serving hot dogs and decides to finish his shift and then return to Portland because he doesn't know anyone there, on Lake Muskegon, and after being molested by some girl he doesn’t know or trust he hitches "a ride on some sweet-ass hovercraft."
as we lost her in the dust of the hovercraft, ali jo ran after me and screamed, 'i'll track you to the end of the earth, Amherst!' obviously i was like, hold the phone there, lady, who the hell are you calling amherst? but the hovercraft driver wouldn't stop for nothing so i dove into lake michigan with my surfboard in tow and caught a wave back to ali jo, who told me all about how my real name was amherst and all of this and blah blah, blahddy blah, fuck sh1t piss, this is so confusing.
Sparkle and blink! That the narrator is confused and cannot keep track of what is happening - and proclaims this! - is a revolution. It's certainly one way to get around the problem of making everything tight and orderly. Why do that anyway? That's not how life is. Real fiction, the kind that works, the kind where all the pieces fit effortlessly and without notice – classic fiction works like a spell and is such a feat that we can only marvel at it. I always think of Heart of Darkness not because I think it's the best book or most flawless or anything but because Conrad's word choice is so conscious and so open (and even inviting) to analysis it is more a work of precision than of art - (although to its merit it does not lose the "tip of the comet tail," as Nietzsche says - a piece of the universe that is true and inexplicable). This is how I see flash fiction right now – micro versions of Heart of Darkness; laudable, done right they are breath-taking. But there's something to be said for going off and just seeing where you end. And I think it's every bit as much an accomplishment to be able to go off and come back at a point where the reader goes oh sh1t and realizes their own lapse of consciousness, or hyperconsciousness, to wit: we were wandering the stream of our own process yet still connected to the text, how magical it is.
But what does a rigid devotion to flawless text do or say about our lives as humans? Should we really spend our lives setting things up exactly how we think other people should analyze them? Is that the only way we can be clear? A lot of people might disagree with me about this and say the narrator's breakdown in ZZZombiezzz is a cheap technique and our departure from traditional literature as stated above is a sign of humanity's degeneration. But what is and always has been important is what allows us to keep going, move beyond. Hilarious at times, dizzying always, ZZZombiezzz is relentless in its progression fwd. When it comes down to it that's all life is: pushing fwd at all times, even when we don't want to. And sometimes we don't even know what that means. Sometimes it's OK to just say "blah blah blahddy blah, fuck sh1t piss, this is so confusing," laugh, and find ourselves all over again.
I believe in math literature but I think we should also be talking about what is happening now, and not just writing a testament to how things used to be. I do not find this time any less abundant than other times. If overall humanity was a lot smarter and full of the spirit it is because man dreamt and imagined himself within a noble and promising context. This is still within our power. I think the development of precise literature in which every detail is significant and tied into theme was in fact a result of modern man's tendency to see himself as an end and not a beginning. Think of it as ‘art-with-a-back-against-the-wall mentality’ vs. ‘art out of abundance.’ This became natural as we faced overpopulation, world war, and the dire sense that there was nowhere else to go. Not that any of that has changed. But we should understand that nothing ever ends. We might completely forget who we are, what we are talking about, but the world keeps turning. We keep going. Forward!
The need to do justice to a narrative is overwhelming sometimes. Often it slows down or even stops forward progress. Narrative begins and we have this feeling that it needs to make sense and proceed in some obviously logical way. But don't we sometimes move forward without understanding what's going on and only make sense of it later? Are there not things that were once significant that no longer appear in our story? We change. The story changes. This is why ZZZombiezzz is such a breath of fresh air to me. To use that cliché is unjust. I’ve been sitting in a dark, closed room without ventilation since Bataille’s Story of the Eye ruined everything after it. Reading ZZZombiezzz I’m reminded that life is way more real than art and if art is to be of any service at all to life it must allow room for us to breathe. Why should we have artists starving for perfection – for the generations after them? Isn’t that over? Are we not in the process of evolving to the point where artists are the healthiest creatures? What is perfection? Why is Heart of Darkness any better than Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas – because Conrad spent more time on it and anguished longer? I believe – and hope – that this standard of value will shift, is now shifting, will be replaced by a more natural creative process.
STOP HURTING YOUR BRAIN. WRITE LIKE REYNARD SEIFERT DOES.
I applaud Mr. Seifert for his dazzling e-book which, in addition to sparking my desire to write these thoughts down, and reminding me of their importance, is supplemented by original artwork from fifteen other artists (!). I was so pleased with the book and with his site hahaclever.com – with its updates on music, stories, and comics – that I sent the man some questions.
I asked him how he has time to do all this stuff – if he was a trust fund kid or something. We could all do great things if we didn’t have to provide for ourselves, right?
RS: My parents aren’t loaded or anything. I mean, they don’t hunt people for fun. The only way I have time to do all this stuff is that I make the time because I like working on stuff.
There is reference to weed several times in ZZZombiezzz so I asked RS the following question:
EK: How much is weed the answer? Not to put you on the spot - I smoke weed and I'm as proud of that as I am of my decision to conserve water however possible and to use a bicycle instead of a car and to eat only free-range eggs; in other words, I think weed is a natural solution to many modern problems and I use it accordingly. As Zach Hazard Vaupen, artist of one of my favorite slides in ZZZombiezzz, calls it: the cure for "not hungry enough." How do you use weed, and say anything here about the subject that pleases you thoroughly. Talk to your own gen, or help the elders understand - up to you.
RS: Well, I don’t think weed is ‘the answer’ exactly. Maybe it’s ‘an answer,’ but there are a lot of answers and far more questions. Although I understand where you’re going with that whole ‘solution to many modern problems’ thing.
The thing is, most people I know aren’t very productive when they smoke weed, and I admire plenty of people who don’t. So it’s not really an explanation for anything in my opinion. And it’s not like I couldn’t do what I do without weed. However, it does relax me and I think that’s good for anyone, especially artists because making art is pretty stressful a lot of the time.
I also drink a ton of coffee, but I don’t think people would typically ask a question like, “So, how much is coffee the answer?"
EK: I saw at the bottom of one of your published stories that you believe in magik. Please, embellish here.
RS: I believe all art and the process of making art is magical. There is magic everywhere and it is being done all the time. I could say a lot more but I’ll leave it to Aleister Crowley, who said it best when asking the question, “What is a Magical Operation? It may be defined as any event in nature which is brought to pass by Will. We must not exclude potato-growing or banking from our definition. Let us take a very simple example of a Magical Act: that of a man blowing his nose.”
EK: Make a serious statement about the correlation between the idea of functioning zzzombiezzz and real people. What does it have to do with fear?
RS: Actually, my contention with the typical zombie myth is that ‘zzzombiezzz’ are the real people, real people in human being costumes, who function more like bees or fish or ants. There are lots of these people: bees or fish or ants. As Hesse said, these creatures are in our DNA, so they manifest themselves in some of us. And they go through life without wanting to be anything more than bees or fish or ants, which is fine; in fact, it’s great! Because we desperately need people like that for the ecosystem to survive. They’re consumers. And yes, they are afraid. They’re meat, after all.
On the other hand, ‘zombies’ are like, self-actualized humans who really live life, have a lust for life, or whatever you want to call it; they engage with reality and pick a fight with the cosmos. So the zombie is great and all – I like him – but he’s also this tragic figure because he’s already dead, so he can’t really have a normal life or anything. Even though he engages with it.
I think that’s pretty much how it is.
Fascinated, and enjoying hahaclever mix #4 (at the time), I asked the following:
EK: For the sake of our edification, list out a few of your favorite writers, albums of all-time, films. Build your own mini-profile here. We know you can't get comprehensive; we don't have the span for that anyway. List whatever you want when some punk asks you this Q. Everyone's lists are inadequate, but we're interested in yours.
RS: It’s always so hard to answer this question because there are so many things out there most people never experience, but I definitely wish I could have made these things:
- Amateurs by Donald Barthelme (short stories)
- In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan (novella)
- Motorman by David Ohle (novel)
- Here Come The Warm Jets by Brian Eno (album)
- La jetée by Chris Marker (short film)
- 8 ½ by Federico Fellini (feature-length film)
You can follow Reynard’s musings on music and books @ musicforbooks
Check out hahaclever.com, where you can read ZZZombiezzz
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ZOMBIE WISDOM: "life is perhaps little more than a measure of how well one can handle stress" -- an astute observation by a pathetic zombie -- it doesn't get more human than that!
To read more: get organized. Or go old school.
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