Who Is John Zombie?

Good Question.

I know that my name is John Zombie. I can’t say for sure that is actually who I am, but I can say that it is what I am. First, I am a “John,” at the very least in its lesser-known meaning of “man” (Which, considering number two, I loosely interpret to mean “male”), but also in one of its better-known definitions of a person who frequents prostitutes. Well, I’m dead. Not a lot of future for long-term relationships there.

Second, I am a zombie. Actually, I prefer revenant, but even I know a split hair when I see one.

Next, I know that I have amnesia. I don’t think that anyone has done a serious study on amnesia types among the undead, but if I had a preference I would call it a fugue state. Fugue states differ from the more common retrograde amnesias in that not only can the sufferer not recall his past, but he has also constructed a new identity for himself. Imagine Bob Smith the successful insurance salesman with the mortgage, the wife and the 2.5 kids who never makes it to the office one day and turns up months later in Kansas calling himself Ed the plumber. If they had zombie psychologists, mine would accuse me of being a romantic, I’m sure. Fugue state amnesia is the rarest form and the most popular among fiction writers. I have done a little reading up.

See, I don't remember my past, but I have an identity. I am John Zombie a . . . er . . . Zombie. OK. So I don't have an alternative identity. I suppose you’d have to have that to be real. Damn. I so wanted to be real.

I don’t know why.

Maybe because I don’t want to be common, you know? Somehow, even though I am maybe the world’s only living zombie—which would make me pretty fucking uncommon—I still feel common. Ordinary. Run of the mill.