Note: I think I wrote this around a year ago. It was a nice diversion from the tension of those early times, while still delving into it. This is a satirical piece, so just a forewarning since the pandemic impacts us all in different ways. I don't take it lightly either as I have had distant family pass from it; back on point, I know this can be a sensitive topic so proceed with caution.
Darcy knew better than to play with time—it wasn’t cheap after all.
“You're the first of your kind—”
Well we live in the Hitchcockian world, and I wanted you to know and fall in love with it—the bomb, I mean, not the alien; he is as ugly as they come.
I, a radiohead hear voices I hear peoples screams live peoples nightmares water board cruelty splints under nails
My beloved, a shore of love passes through me
merciless as the moon-hung with cigarette burns and stars; what I’d give to billow smoke twirling lips through the telephone, a bloodbath
We doze through Utah sulfur, wax Fitzgerald through Lovelock: Now there is a woman! But we’re closer to Gethsemane than the Riviera: stuck on the tracks in Wyoming, axel breaks in Iowa.
This episode contains dark humor about the current pandemic of Covid-19. This may be sensitive to those who know someone who was infected or has passed from the virus.
I’m sitting in my cafe Wanting some inspire Staring at me coffee Waiting brain to fire
When I die, I want to see Jesus’ face wash his feet, though he’d wash mine because he did it for the apostles
Our God first made the heavens Then earth did follow on The rest was made in China
I seem to spend my life In giving up on things
I’ve just read today’s paper It’s full of doom and gloom Murders, killing, destruction, death
Asked mummy if this artificial Meat was free-range grown?
What do you think is the difference between (Your minds you will need to unblock) A jeweler, and also a jailer? Think hard my dear lovely little flock
It’s not a comfortable silence; a tableau of images coursed through him like a dark wash of blood and glassy eyes gating towards him. He didn’t understand the complexity of what he saw, and shaking, he started to shiver on the floor, feeling mounted towards the absolute of death. She crouched down with him, surveying his eyes. He felt he was bleeding out, and before he could get a word in, she gently put the cigarette on his lips, told him to puff. He coughed. His legs swayed, his ribs jammed and compacted. Most of all, he felt trapped in a faint chill that squeezed his eyes open and closed. “Take the cig, Tom, and give it a kiss for me.”
I drink my cappuccino Write poems in a caff And as Americans might say My lines can give a laugh
Marion steadily drummed her fingers on the metal desktop. It was a trick that she had picked up many years ago, something that kept her grounded and relaxed in tense situations. Marion had always found rhythms and patterns to be calming. Of course, some people around her found it a little annoying. It certainly seemed to be annoying Colonel Blythe. He shot her a stern glance, which she of course ignored. She decided that it served him right, for taking such a deliberately long time to read through the documents she’d brought. He was clearly unhappy about the whole situation. For a man like him, handing over control of such a delicate military situation to anyone else would be unthinkable. Being forced to hand over to a female civilian, on the wrong side of forty-five, with a name like Marion would be particularly insufferable. But he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, defy the orders written in that beige dossier.