“At the start we were really bummed out. My family lives across the ocean, so it’s really a bummer that I can’t go see them anymore. I didn’t want the public transport to close, because I enjoyed being on the train. I didn’t want to be an asshole and hoard, but you got to do what you got to do. As I got two bags of beans and rice I whispered under my breath that we are not going to leave the house. We are not doing disservice, surely that’s enough as a confession?

“But then tides started to turn. Perhaps you can tell, I like to exercise and lift weights. I need to get that every day, so I do it in the kitchen. My roommate Oat also stays at home now, but he’s stick-thin so I encouraged him to do it with me. I got to take care of Oat, Oat’s got issues. So he sometimes does it with me, and I think he’s looking better.

“Everyday we water the aloe vera plant and make cereal. Plant and cereal and Netflix.

“Last morning Oat made specialty Vietnamese coffee and invited me to try. I told him that it tasted better than anything I’ve had in a while. He’s glowing. I said why are you so happy. He said that he’s never felt so happy before. Before he’s the OCD patient, he’s the one who can’t stop washing his hands, so he’s the one who’s got a problem. But now that all the suburban moms are washing their tiny, wrinkly hands; and all the big congress men are washing their fat, spongy hands; suddenly he didn’t seem so out of place anymore.

“Oat wanted to watch TV with me and we fell asleep on the couch, on each other. I’ve only liked girls before so this is odd to me. I don’t feel right being so physically close to Oat all the time nowadays. But then again, some part of me didn’t seem to mind at all.


"It’s drastic, yes; why am I not feeling it, though? Everyone seems to be plagued by the mere notion of borders closing, of mobility being reduced – nay, even restricted-- and of governmental officials (police and whatnot) swarming in the streets. All I can think of is how I spent almost two decades facing this looming horror from which everyone is suffering. Stateless; without any papers or anything to prove my existence, my life has been a series of anxious loops circling around aimlessly.

"Borders have always been closed; mobility was always restricted; police was always, always around the corner. I don’t see the point of pointing this out, though. We live in the age of the offended – what if a cyber tiger attacked me with their well-polished claws? ‘You’re not the only one feeling this one,’ one of the flakier ones would say. Those damned airheads thinking they have a full grasp of what confinement really is.

"When I first told Santiago about my case (that’s before we confessed our love to each other), Santiago contemplated my face before he made a knocking gesture on my forehead. ‘Jeremy, you’re stuck in your head,’ he said. At first, I wanted to rearrange his facial features with the full force of my fist as I deemed it very inconsiderate. What did he know of confinement? What did he understand of being stuck? He’d been to the four corners of the world, whereas I, being paperless, only knew the roads of this country – nothing beyond. I wish I could tell this to someone without being sprawled underneath the magnifying glass of judgement.

"I decided to stop smoking, yet the stress of the news constantly pestering my equilibrium is not helping. There is a myriad of things to worry about, so I make myself a peanut butter sandwich. As usual, I end up devouring the entire jar, one small spoon at a time.

"Santiago’s calls are becoming less and less frequent. I understand his depression; I understand he needs me to be there for him. When we agreed to do long distance, there were a few ground rules we never deviated from – one of them was to call at least once in the span of 24 hours. It’s not like we had another choice. Long distance was the one and only answer – back then, at least. He keeps on traveling; I keep on… Well, I keep on being paperless.

"I wonder if I should make a call and revisit the concept of settling down. It will send him to the roof, I’m sure. This appartment is too small. Everywhere there’s a cage.

1 Like

Man, I’m telling you, this is the fear virus propagating through all those normies stuck in the matrix. They vibration is low, man, and that’s why they buy into this propaganda. And then they pass it on. It’s so obviously a conspiracy to sink their claws even deeper into our collective unconscious. Just watch: they’re gonna make it seem like they’re doing all these things to consolidate their power and progress the New World Order further towards its unnatural and disgusting conclusion. Mass arrests for anyone walking the streets so we can’t rise up against them. Coerced vaccinations, and who knows what they’ll put in those to further their cause. And the mainstream media is totally in on it dude, and no one is even questioning their virus narrative.

And you can’t even argue with the normies about it because they’ve been so completely taken over by the wendigo hive mind fear virus that they will just throw back at you the narrative they’ve been fed from the tube. Intubated, man. Automatons. And they’ll even think it’s their own words coming out. I feel sorry for them man.

But yeah, jokes on the powers because ultimately you can’t hold back the stars realigning to the divine cosmic equilibrium. It’ll all sort out when the Altairians come into focus.

I’m just fine. I’ll just chill right here and watch it unfold. It’s no use standing on the tracks when the train is coming. And talk to anyone who’s on a high enough frequency to discourse with me. You’re one of the good ones man. We click.

It’s all about shadow work. People have to look inside to see the insanity that’s taken hold. Then maybe they’ll wake up and smell the conspiracy. They all need to wake up to reality.


I thought it would be safer in New York than in Beijing, but I could not have been more wrong. What started as a national disaster, has become an international problem. It wasn’t even easy for me to get out of China, they started enforcing travel bans long ago. I had to make up some shit about going to visit a sick relative; immigration at PEK was not entirely convinced, but did not really care enough to make me stay in Beijing. Shit was bad, but it was America’s job to keep me out if I was sick. I was not sick. Not really. Runny nose but that’s only a symptom in very few patients. Doctor said I was fine anyway when I went to see him before I snuck away.

It was late February when I flew to JFK. Took a direct flight, didn’t want to increase any chances of getting sick on the way there. Luckily, I have somewhere to stay in New York so I didn’t have to worry about accommodation. An old friend of mine from high school who moved to America when he was 18. Never looked back, he said. I prefer China but not when it’s sick and on lockdown.

For a month, things seemed fine. China was exploding with cases, it had started spreading to nearby countries but didn’t seem like it would make it over here. Plus, everyone knows about the virus. The government does, the people do; it would be fine, I thought, no way we’d ignore it until it was too late.

America did and it is too late.

Last week, I tried to catch a flight back to China but they wouldn’t let me on. It’s probably safer in Wuhan now than in New York. Cases there are dwindling, here everything is rising. I’m scared of going out in case I get assaulted for being Chinese. I came from China but I did not bring the virus with me.

It is now the other way around; I’ve started coughing and so has my friend.


“I saw on Facebook that CO2 emissions are down by fifty percent; the rivers are clear again. Did you see that video of wild boars roaming the Italian town? Yeah. I mean, for me I think this is how it should be. We should keep it this way — personally, I’ll be enjoying the improvements in our environment as long as us humans stay home. I’ve been saying it for ages, we are the disease.

“There’s nothing you can’t do from home, isn’t it? Right now you can do any work from the internet, my fiancé is doing work from his laptop. Me and my gals have canceled happy hour. It’s better for the environment, but I’m scared that our place would shut down. I’m sending love and positive energy to Liv — you know, the owner. Have you been to her place? It’s one of the only vegan joints in town. Anyways, we grow vegetables in our garden, and our hot water is solar powered. I’ve been saying this for ages. We have enough energy for everyone to live self-sufficiently. You know, I think this is the solution to poverty as well. There’s definitely enough food and land in the wild. If we just go back and become farmers all over again, we’d be really happy, with a lot of vitamin D. And if we don’t keep cows and animals for food, methane level goes down, we can really alleviate the ‘symptoms’ of our existence for Earth.

“As of right now — I don’t know. Just staying at home and seeing where this goes. I’ve been staying in and reading — Animal Rights by Peter Singer. I don’t completely understand him, but I’m just surer of my lifestyle with every page. And no, we’re not going to have children. Having children is one of the worst things for the environment. We need to really reduce our population for our existence to be sustainable.

“What? No, that’s not what I meant! No, I don’t think those people deserve to die. But then again, none of the animals anyone ate deserved to die. Do you think so?


"It’s not funny any more. I’ve had to ask both my maids not to come, my live-in has got fear in her eyes and wants to return to her village and I had to send our driver home because he looked hot and coughed once just as I was about to get into the car to go to my mani-pedi. Can you imagine what it is like in a 3000 square feet apartment without help to clean in the heat of the tropics?

"This is so not what I signed up for. I said to D straight up that I’ll have to go on a wellness break, alone, for at least two weeks when all this dies down. And it will have to be five star. He doesn’t get it. He’s like “Honey I’d love it if I could just play with the kids all day”. Play? We have this online school thing going on. Have you ever tried to get three precocious young girls to sit and do school work? Let alone the rest of the day once they’re done. I am NOT their teacher. There is a reason why I did not pursue that profession and there is also a reason why I pursued a husband who could keep me in the manner to which I am accustomed.

"Jesus! (And I mean that sincerely, I am God fearing!) How is it not even half ten? I already need mom juice just to keep up with the WhatsApp chat on this one. I have to answer three different groups for each kids’ year group. Then there’s the ‘nights out’ group and the ‘serenity now’ group and the ‘corona info’ group and the ‘I need wine’ group and all these other little groups in between. It’s like…MIND…BLOWN…DAILY not to mention repetitive strain on my thumb. D doesn’t get it. He’s like “Sweet cheeks you don’t have to reply to any of that shit” But if I stop communicating with these gurlz then I might lose status, you know? It’s very dog-eat-dog world, more playground than the playground and, without my mani-pedi? I can only be grateful I am on a lockdown since I cannot be seen like that by anyone. I got a rep to protect.


"My friend owns a brewery here, in town. I love the place. His stout is superb, the IPA sublime. Small batches of beauty, art I can drink. I go every Friday, sick or well, sane or otherwise. It is an escape, in all its concrete block glory, like pages of a beloved book or one of those movies one watches again and again, even though there is no surprise left.

It is closed, now, for the same reason everything else is closed: the new plague, the punishment of a wrathful god, if some are to be believed, or perhaps some nefarious plot by agents of chaos. I don’t believe that god(s) involves itself in the lives of the mortals, nor do I believe in the conspiracies drawn up in those dark recesses of YouTube. I think it is so much more complicated than any of those morality tales, so much more richly rendered than the imaginings of humans can fathom. For now, at any rate.

It is a balance thing, I suspect. There is a scale, a figurative device the old religions used to call fate for lack of a better understanding. It tips, sometimes, one direction or another, on a timescale so vast we cannot conceive it. The big lizards died, so the scale tipped hard to one side, far past the point of the fulcrum. The mammals rose and begat us after countless millennia, with our arrogant dismissal of natural order, of balance, and here we are, chatting in an imagined clone of reality, waiting for the virus to die.

And then…then, we will go back to tipping the balance in our favor, out of balance, until eventually we figure out how to break the goddamn thing and perish like the lizards by a comet of our own making. The world will recover, repopulate with whatever carbon-based permutation is fastest, smartest, fucks fastest. And the scale will teeter once more, to be called fate or destiny or religion by the evolved slugs who learn to think.

In the meanwhile, I sit, worried about my kids even though they are adults (excepting my son, but 17 is damned close) and can fend for themselves, make decisions. But I wonder what they will wake up to tomorrow, how, if at all, the world will have changed, and they with it. It isn’t fear; it is better described as…attunement, or maybe temporary jhana, a state of dispassionate acceptance.

There is something to be said for solitude and reflection. But not all of it is good.


I’m making my escape. The nation I’ve been visiting, like many others, has failed to contain the epidemic and staying here might mean months of sequestration. It’s time to go home. Even if the situation there could be turn out to be just as dire. I’m catching what feels like one of the last flights out through the ‘contaminated lands’, as the airline infrastructure slowly and nervously goes into hibernation, trying to sleep off its disease.

I wonder sometimes if the social structures built out of myriad human building blocks have anything resembling ‘experience’. And whether, like us, that experience comes with just as much uncertainty and fear about dangers hard to perceive because they happen on the cellular level.

I arrive at the airport in a bus with one other passenger. I check in my bag at the counter where five clerks are attending two travelers, myself included. I fumble with my gloves and feel the now familiar germophobia that is circling the globe. I walk through the terminal where the distance between passengers is well over what’s necessary. I give a half-hearted smile to the woman waiting on another bench. We don’t make conversation, and although that is simply business as usual in our modern world, it doesn’t feel right. I decide that it’s my responsibility be as kind to everyone I meet on this trip as I possibly can, because they’re all fighting so hard.

On the flight I am one of ten passengers and eight crew members. Another passenger is meticulously cleaning her already deep-cleaned seat. The flight attendants are as courteous and kind as I’ve come to expect from many other flights. And there’s something else happening in them. It’s right below my ability to perceive it. I watch the flight attendant strapped into her chair during takeoff. And I start feeling it. Her tiredness from overwork. My eyes well up. Her uncertainty about her future. My tears are landing strips for the virus. About the people she cares for. I scramble for a handkerchief. It’s an unfamiliar movement, I usually just wipe my eyes with my fingers or let the tears flow. I look out the window and down towards the mountains below, and I imagine and feel all the grief for the ever-present uncertainty, because this world feels so familiar and yet so very alien.

Halfway across the continent, another black swan breaks away from the fractal cascade and swoops by the window: the layover airport has just shut down due to an outbreak in the air traffic control tower, the captain informs us. A jolt of fear shoots through me. I find myself attempting to create best and worst case scenarios despite woefully inadequate information. While thinking I touch my face. An older flight attendant comes through the cabin and asks me to pray. I converse with her on friendly terms, ask her a couple of questions she can’t answer, and then close my eyes and recite the Enmei Juku Kannon Gyo for protection against calamities. Vocalizing the syllables slows my breathing down, vibrates my vagus nerve, and calms me to the level of what Tyler Durden would call a Hindu cow. And right then, 20 minutes and one full rotation of the plane after the announcement, the tower reopens and we’re back on track.

I have no idea what happens next.

1 Like

"Just take it that everyone is a potential hazard, is the advice, and I’m spending 13 hours a day thinking about whether the vaccination will be mandatory. Does the immune system grow when challenged? Very impressive doctor on TV. Let’s hope her warnings are taken seriously by other countries. Countries helping countries. People helping people. Cooperation not division. Human lives matter. This is the fight the world must have. I think I need to stop eating. As much. Will I need to walk more. I walked today. The streets were full. There’s no consequence. Difficult to know if there’ll be police out soon. The internet was awful before.!


“Now wash your hands for the next 3 years,” someone has written in eyeliner next to the toilet in the Moon Club. There’s no toilet roll. She drip dries and pulls her tights up, very high. There’s no hand soap. She rubs her eyes and nose and looks for a mirror. No mirror. She dabs her little finger in a tiny sachet of whatever this mystery white powder is and rubs it into her gums. She walks into the side of the door, reverses into the sink then forwards into the door. Reverses into the sink and then sees the door handle. You’re doing great. Here we go. This last hurrah before everything goes into a very peaceful war is going just super, thanks. The bands are horrible but its 2 quid for 4 Slut Bombs”. We’ll be ok, its not a young disease.

  1. PLAYER 34,097,903
    "I decided to leave not long after it crept into the country I was in. It hadn’t really made itself known at that point and, anyway, some big American cheese was in town and the rumour mill was alive with speculation that cases were kept on the down-low because of their visit. Politics through and through.
    Leaving was smooth, from my point of view. I was travelling alone with two small children. It is an unforgiving sport with no prize (unless you count the gin and tonic the air hostess gave me while the smaller one slept, she sensed my relief to only focus on one and offered a different kind of solace that went gratefully received, she suggested I might like a bottle of wine with my dinner, I’m not a drinker really but I accepted, a tin can for ten hours with two small people? I might well need help of that kind).
    We made it. The three of us. The plane was full. It was the penultimate flight, for that airline, out of that city. A huge relief that we made it. And then utter disbelief people on the flight would sit there and wear their masks and disinfect their table trays but then try to get my toddler to high five them or steal a kiss from their cheek. First of all STRANGER get the fuck off my child you weirdo and secondly you clearly got the memo about the virus SO WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO TOUCH A CHILD…my child. Not your child. STRANGER. And my thoughts cycle in this confused loop, unable to escape from the sheer stupidity of these people and completely dumbfounded by the (almost) never-ending ability of people to think it is OK to touch a child they don’t know. Bad enough people wanting to smear their hands over your baby bump before these bundles arrive. I sound like a skeptic, I’m not, this stuff just cooks my goose way beyond dry and I mean that in a bad-Christmas-dinner sense, not a self-indulgent-session-exhausted kind of a way. It’s just so perverted.
    We made it.
    I sit here alone. But I am not really alone. I am never alone anymore. Everywhere I go I am followed by two small fireballs of energy. They are the constant that now defines me. I get the time at the end of the day if I have any energy left by that time. Since we landed here the weather has hit us like water gun to the chest. A police water gun. And this country is in some kind of mire. But, it is home! And I can handle shit at home, on my own turf, in a way I could not in the tropics.
    We are “self isolating” for seven days. Seven days. We have made it to day six. We are symptom free so far. This country is struggling and yet I have come here. Even my cousin has it. She is stuck in the capital in a tiny flat with a two year old. The two year old has had it too. They cannot come to where I am to escape. Her parents are strong and fit but there are underlying lung conditions. It could be dangerous. Too dangerous. It has ripped families apart.
    It has stripped a layer off ours as I have left my partner back where we were. I miss them keenly, even if we haven’t been communicating well for sometime. It still isn’t the (current) aim of the game to be a single parent situation. But the virus has forced my hand.

For now we need to finish day seven of self isolation to move on in the game.

None of us quite know where the game will take us next.

It is a new game and we are all trying to understand the rules.

It is not a virtual game, although it feels as though it is being played out in an alternate reality.

It is not a nice game and I don’t recall being asked to play. It has just happened.


I told my children not to come visit me, but I didn’t need to. They can’t travel anymore, not even down the street to my house. It is weird, because I feel lonely. The other day I learnt that my good friend Lena had gotten the disease and is now in intensive care; I pray that she will recover soon. I don’t know what I can do much, other than praying now. Many of my friends are in the hospital now, but I am holding on alright. Half of my ball room dancing group is sick, but that is because they all danced with Marco who does not keep himself clean, and I know better than to keep contact with him. I have heard nothing from anyone who runs the card game group, perhaps all the men are silent now.

Rosa is freaking out about me, and my living alone, but I told her it’s all alright. I can do fine without groceries, after all I have grown a little something in my garden. I told her that I can take care of myself, and she does not need to parent me. She has herself to take care of, talk about her little bump up front. I am worried if she will be able to go to the hospital; perhaps we will call a midwife like what we used to do. I thought that my friend Donata who can do this type of thing; but then I realized that she is sick too.

I am staying at home because I don’t want get sick, but also since these social groups are cancelled, I do not know where I would go. Wartime used to be like this, but my husband is dead and I know for sure that he will not come back. I hope I do not die, I would like to see my grandchild born.

  1. LAURA

Ohmyyyygod, i am so fucking lonely,(HORNY BABE LOOKING FOR COMPANY NEAR UUUUU)))))))))),how will i manage this mess??? I need human touch. The babies die if they don´t get the touched and so do i. Today. Deceased.

ONE AND A HALF METERS DISTANCE UNTIL JUNE…it feels like the government is playing a joke on my pussy, AGAIN. Why do i find myself single at THIS particular moment in time? just my luck, why did i broke up with A? Oh yes i was bored, bored by the unintelligence and the silence. But now i am even more boooooored. Should i call A? OMG DESPERATE. Twosomeness in a lil happy genderrole theateract even feels fun now.

In my little student flat what the fuckchhchc will i do??? OKAY, i can do tinder, i guess everyone is on there now. But then what? I wouldn’t exactly feel safe to meet them at their home or mine. What if they are a TOTAL PHYsCOOOOO?? but who isn’t these days. Im having full on conversations with my plant. And u my friend are a fish and usually people don´t speak to fish, not even me but all is different now and I must say u are a very beautiful fish and if I was I fish we would totally bang and your eyes are big and deep and I feel like your listening and somehow i am finding myself confiding in you more and more. I can totally relate to your life now and as soon as this is over i will let u out in the canal to swim freely dating a very hot fish in the open sea!!! i promise!! pinky promise HAHA u don’t have a pinky. Fin promise. FIN. END OF THE MOVIE, names rolling down the black screen. SAD sad saaad life.

OKAY but tinder. This can become a supercuteindiepixydreamgirlmanicmovie where we find ways to get to know each other, being 1 and a half meter apart on the street, we can have tin can telephones and make romantic big ass signs to each other and swing in two different swings towards each other (cuz the police wouldn’t fine someone swinging in a swing rite??), we can whisper to each other cheesy poems through megaphones and we can sit in different trees and we can leave traces and messages to each other in public spaces, under benches and spit in old ladies tea (KIDDING) and then finally when we trust each other enough like after an extensive period of this overly cute bs which i love and hate they will shout:: "I DONT CARE IF I GET A FINE OF 400€ LAURA!!! I NEED TO KISS U NOW!!! I LOVE YOU! YOU ARE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE etc etc.” and then they come close to me and kiss me. But then what if at that very moment i cough in there face accidentally and they will catch it catch it gotta catch em all lil spitdrops and then FUCK, they run away in fear and i was just looking forward going home with them and fucking so hard and now its all ruined again.

    The year. 2020. Location: Earth. Time: indefinite
    Heat exposure: in the vicinity of myth

The pubs are closed. The men stand chit chatting at seven a.m. with Heineken beers in front of them. As though their homes have teeth and snarl at six a.m., an alarm in more ways than one, signaling departure time. They run to the only place of refuge that they know. Except that it isn’t actually the building that provides refuge.

Everything is suspended. It’s the one time that the city clock, having stopped its ticking and chiming a number of years ago, makes any sense. It could be eight twenty-three for the entire day. It was going to be fourteen days of eight twenty-three. Or more. Depending on how effectively this organism is able to multiply.
One ten is ten. Two tens are twenty. Three tens are thirty. Simple math really.
Elsewhere someone is counting again.
Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen sixteen…
The ratio of breaths in, retention and breaths out is 1:4:2
It takes almost six rounds of this for the panic to subside.
A single being, in an alley of a house, eyes tunnel visioned.

The buildings hang in mid-air, movement suspended.
Half signatures on dotted lines; refugee feet caught in mid-stride at borders shutting down; nationless people in solitary confinement; visas expiring rendering student status, illegal. Metamorphosis.

The notes in my pocket crinkled, my pocket, a safety vault for now. I have taken to hiding currency under the mattresses and cushions. Just in case.

I expect to hear the whirring of jet engines soon; expect to see the broken railway lines that once carried arsenal, magnetically fit together again, like in scifi films when the reel rewinds and broken things become whole again; expect too to hear the groaning of land, shuffling and shifting, ridding itself of weight. Expect to see and hear and smell things long hidden, stories long lost, thrown up by lakes and land holding centuries old paraphernalia that tell centuries old stories.

The storyteller comes centre stage. And a single word - powerful, life-giving - Chaos.


The good news is I made it. The good news is I’m safe and sound in quarantine and making the most of it. Living the monk lifestyle: early up, lots of meditation, exercise, and keeping healthy in body and mind. I’m available to my friends and holding space for them daily as they navigate through this. Taking it one day at a time is important, it’s too difficult to plan years ahead in this environment of uncertainty.

The bad news is I’m starting to lose faith that we’ll get through this and things will go back to normal. The bad news is that I can’t keep my mind and heart from living ahead of time, and there is an outline forming of a new existence that leaves a lot to be desired.

The bad news is I’m starting to believe those of my friends who are railing how this will exacerbate the rise of surveillance capitalism and authoritarian rule. What will we have to submit to in order to start meeting our basic human needs for physical connection and gathering?

And what are the costs if we don’t find some way back to there? Modern life is already deeply marked by grayness and distance. Lack of human connection is as much a cause of death as physical unsafety. Even though spring is afoot in the Northern hemisphere, the darkness looms over all.

The math does not paint a rosy picture of the next two years. Two years. That’s the time scale of similar historical pandemics.

The awesome weight of that time frame, miniscule in relation to life itself, crushes my hopes and dreams into fine powder.

I want to snort it.

  1. PETER

I was sweating on the live broadcast, hundreds of thousands people watching. They all turn to me for advise and i tried to look smart while holding back my cough. The bright spotlight is heating up my shiny forehead, tiny drips falling, i am a polluted cloud, grey and heavy, but shiny like a star. A highway to hell, that song is stuck in my head for days now. But would it really be a highway to hell? Why not more like a plane-ride to hell? Or my career to hell. If I were a carpenter and you were a lady. If I was a politician and you were an oldie.

Time just goes faster and faster and faster and the universe expands every second of every hour. Everything gets further away from each other but if the universe is endless then how does it expand? The earth is still moving around its own axis, spinning incredibly fast and the dinosaurs got extinct from a virus right? Need to rewatch jurassic park. What if the next species do a ”human park” movie? What will the next species be like? Im guessing dolphins or rats (with hats). Oh now I imagine creepy pick up artists rats with hats going around being sexual predators. If I was a rat and you were a cat.

Haven’t we all watched too many movies about the apocalypse? Isn’t this why we are freaking out and projecting all kinds of scenarios? Like the one where I am bruce and need to go back in time to save humanity but actually I just fall in-love with a hot psychiatrist. Would you marry me anyway, would you have my baby?

A baby holds its breath under water until, someone pulls it up. I make all of the final decisions, what if these are the wrong ones? How will i ever forgive myself if its my choices that kills all of these people. How will others forgive me? Sound smart. I know what I’m doing. Talk about imposter syndrome, a baby in a suit. My throat is itching like a mosquito bit me there, did i sleep with my mouth open? A live broadcast to hell.

  1. TAKI

“Aw, man, I don’t know if this is the right way to go, you know, you’re waving the camera in my face and you’re sitting awful close to me, how do I know you don’t have the virus? The most important thing for you to do is to get out of here, instead of this civil journalism bullshit. Why would you do something you’re not paid for?

“Anyways, how I think? I mean, it sucks, but there are sure upsides. My granddad died last spring and I now feel fortunate that he died early because at least we’re able to have a proper fucking funeral for him, you know, he was the uptight gentleman type, he’d curse us to high heavens if we left him hanging in the casket for a month like they’re doing right now. I think my dad has this and is dying now, I don’t know, couldn’t really care, you know, he shakes hands with everyone because that’s his job, and I’m pretty sure innocent people from our town had died from him so, I guess karma? He was a shitty mayor. And he stopped talking to me after finding out I’m socialist.

“I don’t really know. I’m fucked in terms of jobs, I’m supposed to graduate into an okay economy, who would’ve thought in January when we were joking about World War III? I’m just now working towards course credits, buttering up my professors, hoping this online bullshit ends soon. You know, I want to be an accountant, it would help me organize stuff underground as well. My best friend Oat told me the other day that he’s getting closer to his roommate. I mean, Oat’s pretty serious about that guy, but he without the virus he couldn’t have made a move, right? That big and burly guy, what’s his name. I mean, good for them.

Oat and I met a couple of years ago. He’s a friend of Kassie’s and Kassie is my ex. Quirky, yet pleasant blonde who went to school with me, who introduced me to the city and to all of the perks of living on your own. She’s the one that taught me how to cook, how to pay bills, how to avoid getting in trouble. We had good times, Kassie and I, but after a while it just collapsed. I think many couples are familiar with the same pattern: crazy love, sex and passion, then stabile times, then boredom and last, but not least, frustration and this strange habit of blaming your partner for your own mess. I suppose that’s how the world spins when you’re in your early 20s.

I didn’t think about Oat too much when I was with Kassie. He was that strange, yet sharp-minded kid that always seemed to be hiding something. He just had that aura, you know. But when we moved in together, I kinda began to like him. He’s a good roommate, tidy, quiet. I never thought I could like like him, you know. But that couch thing made me think.

After a couple of days we were chilling on the same couch and watching The Affair. You know, that show about a writer that cheats on his wife with some waiter, and every episode is made of 2 different perspectives? Like, first you see the dude’s story, then you see the same thing, but from his lover’ perspective. Oat made a funny comment. He said: Your cheeks remind me of Joshua Jackson. And he winked. Oat never does that. He doesn’t flirt, he doesn’t wink. But the weirdest part is – it didn’t seem strange at all. He looked natural, as if he was washing hands by repeating a series of little movements his body memorized through the years.

And I? Well, I liked the compliment.

…! …!!!..

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The code is just a formality because we speak differently now. Language has grown this last year, and they are an indoor teenager who performs politeness so well for us, hiding their psychosis for bedroom pop.

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