I walked past it quite often: The Zombie House. I had, previously, noticed its otherworldly,out-of-place character; it was WHOLLY clinical: a very neat front lawn,plastic-looking. No-one was at any of the windows… “A care home”, I thought.

Out-of-place because it stood with its sharp, clean angles amidst the quirky, higgledypiggledyness of the other houses in Aigburth Drive;with their glued-on excrescences.

Then, sometime later, I walked past it again; two,zombie-like denizens(presumably)- in a liminal area betwixt life and death-walked out like automatons, stiff and grey. They walked, as if robots, propelled by some invisible power, up the road in a clunky, jerking fashion. Did they live(or half-live) there? I was left with a slight, but discernible, feeling of malaise, familiar from Holbeck Hall and Snow Hill. Care homes-if it was one of such- gave me, always, that feeling of unheimliche heimat; where we KNOW there is a chance we may be forsaken and ended; homely(to a degree) yet uncanny; familiar yet unfamiliar.

{ I have found/consolidated a genre: the malaise-ridden, existential- angst- fuelled representation of the human condition: SPECTRAL PSYCHOGEOGRAPHY; more tales to follow}



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