2:46 AM.......AWAKENING, WITH A TORRENTIAL OUTPOURING OF MEANINGFUL IRRELEVANCES, JUMBLED...WITH LITTLE PRE-FRONTAL INTERFERENCES

 Both exhausted and stimulated by the bites of hatching, blood-sucking black fleas that had incubated in an old Persian rug that I dragged home from a yard sale......I escaped to my Fortress of Solitude in the Attic, clawing at my ankles and feet and crushing some of the armored vampires  between my fingernail tips.  Requiring some distraction, I turned on the satellite receiver and monitor, just as a Jim Jarmusch Film  THE DEAD DON'T DIE, was beginning.....noting its Cast 'n' Credits.......[and having, previously, appointed one of his earlier films, ONLY LOVERS LEFT ALIVE to my personal Pantheon of Late Night Weird Cinematica.....] It devolved into a mess of referentialities;  George Romero, scribbling furiously in a lined Blue Horse tablet, in red,  colluding with David Lynch, holding a spiky copper scouring pad between his butt cheeks. while re-directing Spielberg's Alien Saucer-ship from its landing, without being observed by Francois Truffaut, whose Bolex formatting cameras tumble to the desert floor and are gathered up like the possessions of Lila Kedrova in ZORBA THE GREEK...and taken off for taste-testing by the native cast of CAT PEOPLE..... So...the zombies plod through the streets of Centerville, with all those referential cues from 200 MOTELS,  to a recreation of the Bates Motel, where, late in the stupid film,  the three City Kids get devoured by zombies, then have their heads demolished by Officer Petersen, who...minutes later.....is also devoured, along with Chloe and Bill's deadbeat cop characters..........During all this,  Tilda'a character, Zelda Winston, channeling..simultaneously,  Legolis & Beatrix Kiddo....meets the Intergalactic Cruiser ship, as it is surrounded by flesh-eating zombies, and is taken aboard in an anti-gravity ray beam and whisked away from this mess of rednecks and walking dead.....Did I miss anything of any importance, whatsoever?   My 'takeaway' was only the sad memory of Hermit Bob, cooking the blood-drained corpse of Anton Yelchin, while having some juicy spider appetizers as they struggle between his fingernail tips.....