A friend just sent me a video of empty streets in Soho.
It features the occasional flyby of a bicycle delivery trailing a cloud of virus.
In the end, it wasn’t the bomb, it wasn’t zombies, everyone just went home and watched TV.
It’s the first television pandemic. Something medieval is reaching out at us through the cell towers.
An infectious agent replicating in the system. An organism at the edge of life, trying to get in.
Searching for animation, overheating its host in the process.
It has taken control of the media, filling my ears.
Stay home.
Watch TV.
Place the bats in a large kettle and add water to cover.
Add ginger, onion, garlic, and salt.
Bring to boil and cook for sixty minutes.
Why am I so easily manipulated. Unable to think clearly as the switches are thrown. Alternating my feeds triggering hope, anger, fear, denial.
The antivaxxers are either calling it a hoax, or drinking heavy metals to protect themselves.
When the vaccine arrives, I hope they have the decency to get in the back of the line.
I keep checking the news, nothing yet.
Stay home.
Watch TV
Don’t eat the bats. Swarms of bats keep flying in every day, littering the beaches, packing the nightclubs. That video is playing over and over on all my screens. Beady eyed drunk bat boy doesn’t care, he just wants to party.
Remove the bats, skin them and return the meat to the broth.
A Delivery bat waiting by the curb, two more land and greet, then off to spread the news to everyones doorbell.
Steven Spielberg isn’t returning calls. Deep in his bunker he’s worried about the shadow in his doorway wearing a red mask.
It’s too late.
The TV was already on.
Stay home.
Canned beans of every kind are stacked to the ceiling. It’s an illusion, closer inspection reveals them all to be kidney beans, with different colored labels. This isn’t bean heaven, it’s hell.
Stay home.
Watch TV.
The bats will be holding a press conference live at 3 Pacific Time. The bats are creeping out of my laptop, pouring infection in my ears while I daydream.
Bat soup is served with scallions, and seasoned with soy sauce, and/or coconut cream.
Senior hour at Costco, the line serpentines in the shade of solar panels. I can almost hear the click click of the roller coaster climbing to the drop.
Bats make lazy circles overhead. I remember to keep my hands and feet clean inside the car, don’t touch the handle.
For some, this will be the last ride.
It features the occasional flyby of a bicycle delivery trailing a cloud of virus.
In the end, it wasn’t the bomb, it wasn’t zombies, everyone just went home and watched TV.
It’s the first television pandemic. Something medieval is reaching out at us through the cell towers.
An infectious agent replicating in the system. An organism at the edge of life, trying to get in.
Searching for animation, overheating its host in the process.
It has taken control of the media, filling my ears.
Stay home.
Watch TV.
Place the bats in a large kettle and add water to cover.
Add ginger, onion, garlic, and salt.
Bring to boil and cook for sixty minutes.
Why am I so easily manipulated. Unable to think clearly as the switches are thrown. Alternating my feeds triggering hope, anger, fear, denial.
The antivaxxers are either calling it a hoax, or drinking heavy metals to protect themselves.
When the vaccine arrives, I hope they have the decency to get in the back of the line.
I keep checking the news, nothing yet.
Stay home.
Watch TV
Don’t eat the bats. Swarms of bats keep flying in every day, littering the beaches, packing the nightclubs. That video is playing over and over on all my screens. Beady eyed drunk bat boy doesn’t care, he just wants to party.
Remove the bats, skin them and return the meat to the broth.
A Delivery bat waiting by the curb, two more land and greet, then off to spread the news to everyones doorbell.
Steven Spielberg isn’t returning calls. Deep in his bunker he’s worried about the shadow in his doorway wearing a red mask.
It’s too late.
The TV was already on.
Stay home.
Canned beans of every kind are stacked to the ceiling. It’s an illusion, closer inspection reveals them all to be kidney beans, with different colored labels. This isn’t bean heaven, it’s hell.
Stay home.
Watch TV.
The bats will be holding a press conference live at 3 Pacific Time. The bats are creeping out of my laptop, pouring infection in my ears while I daydream.
Bat soup is served with scallions, and seasoned with soy sauce, and/or coconut cream.
Senior hour at Costco, the line serpentines in the shade of solar panels. I can almost hear the click click of the roller coaster climbing to the drop.
Bats make lazy circles overhead. I remember to keep my hands and feet clean inside the car, don’t touch the handle.
For some, this will be the last ride.
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