Quotes by Isaac Marion

Theres no benchmark for how lifes supposed to happen. There is no ideal world for you to wait around for. The world is always just what it is now, its up to you how you respond to it.

I am Dead, but its not so bad. Ive learned to live with it.

The past is made out of facts... I guess the future is just hope.

...and well see what happens when we say Yes while this rigor mortis world screams No.

Your dreamers. You ridiculous children. You dancing grinning fuckups. Here is your bright future. Your earnest, saccharine hope. How does it taste dripping from the neck of everyone you love?

Every time I go to sleep, I know I may never wake up. How could anyone expect to? You drop your tiny, helpless mind into a bottomless well, crossing your fingers and hoping when you pull it out on its flimsy fishing wire it hasnt been gnawed to bones by nameless beasts below.

My friend M says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you cant smile, because your lips have rotted off.

Why is it beautiful that humanity keeps coming back? So does herpes.

The darkness of the room is pulsing with gunfire, and by our standards we are grossly outnumbered - there are only three of us to every one of them - but something is tipping things in our favor. Our manic speed is uncharacteristic of the Dead, and our prey are not prepared for it. Is this all coming from me? Creatures without desire usually dont move quickly, but theyre following my lead, and I am an angry whirlwind.

Whats wrong with people? she says, almost too quiet for me to hear. Were they born with parts missing or did it fall out somewhere along the way?

Good people see past their own fucking lives.

Mozart,” Julie says in a bitter chuckle, staring at the speaker. “It’s supposed to be the pinnacle of art, right? This transcendent human achievement? And we use it for background noise in bathrooms. We literally shit on it.

It frustrates and fascinates me that well never know for sure, that despite the best efforts of historians and scientists and poets, there are some things well just never know. What the first song sounded like. How it felt to see the first photograph. Who kissed the first kiss, and if it was any good.

The magic that confounds them is humanity. The naturally occurring, slow acting, unpredictably potent product of conscious minds connecting. These madmen want to synthesise love. They want to manufacture it, weaponise it, and use it to control people. It’s such a ludicrous scheme it would be funny if they weren’t trampling the world in pursuit of it.

This plague... This curse... I have an idea where it came from. I dont think its from any spell or virus or nuclear rays. I think its from a deeper place. I think we brought it here. I think we crushed ourselves down over the centuries. Buried ourselves under greed and hate and whatever other sins we could find until our souls finally hit the rock bottom of the universe. And then they scraped a hole through it, into some... dark place. We released it. We poked through the seabed and the oil erupted, painted us black, pulled our inner sickness out for everyone to see. Now here we are in this dry corpse of a world, rotting on our feet till theres nothing left but bones and the buzz of flies.

Music? Music is life! It’s physical emotion - you can touch it! It’s neon ecto-energy sucked out of spirits and switched into sound waves for your ears to swallow. Are you telling me, what, that it’s boring? You don’t have time for it?

In the darkest and strangest of places with the most macabre of company, this music moves her and her life pulses hard... And even for Julies safety, I cant bring myself to smother it.

Every time I go to sleep, I know I may never wake up. How could anyone expect to? You drop your tiny, helpless mind into a bottomless well, crossing your fingers and hoping that when you pull it out on its flimsy fishing wire it hasnt been gnawed to bones by the beasts below. Hoping you pull up anything at all.

I try to think of things to say but nothing comes, and if something did come I probably couldnt say it. This is my great obstacle, the biggest of all the boulders littering my path. In my mind I am eloquent; I can climb intricate scaffolds of words to reach the highest cathedral ceilings and paint my thought. But when I open my mouth, everything collapses.

I dont know what happened. Disease? War? Social collapse? Or was it just us? The Dead replacing the Living? I guess its not so important. Once youve arrived at the end of the world, it hardly matters which route you took.