Friday, October 28, 2022

2 Minutes. Go!

You are the sickness. You are the parasite. You gnash your sharp teeth, and the sound is misery. You paint your biases with a wide brush - cover everything in a nice uniform color. Some color you can count on. Something like green or blue. 

There are oceans in blood and there is blood in the ocean, on our hands, in our hearts. You can taste the metallic snap of it. Feel the salt slither in. 

Don't try to make excuses for it. You are a sly predator, cozying up beside me. Own your predation. That's the very least you can do. 

No one is going to call you out, because we know you're not right. Not right in the head, the heart, the moral compass. Your moral compass points to nowhere. Just back at you. Like the mirror you won't look into. 

Mirrors are too close to truth, right?

This isn't a game, and you do the world a disservice acting this way. We're just trying to stay clear of the scrambling claws, collateral damage and all that. I'll disappear inside the deepest hole I can find. I'll stay there until the hot light has wiped everything clean. Sterile. New. 

Then, I will live.  


  1. Man, you always send me several layers in before I crawl out self doubting and self examined. I suppose this kind of hot light therapy is what we all seek? Well done, as always Dan.


  2. Impermanent Waves:

    The missiles were still flying. The hotel had been shaking for more than ten minutes, ringing the surface of my coffee with Jurassic Park ripples. It was a Wednesday in July, close to the end of our doomed civilisation.

    But I couldn’t fault the table Thomas had given me.

    The Hawks and the Doves had been hard at it for weeks, warring factions, both in America and China. The big Russian bear had also been growling - Glasnost was forever a thing of the past; its foreign borders irrevocably closed yet again. And then North Korea decided it was also spoiling for a fight.

    But it was business, as usual, here on the patio at Tom’s Seafood Diner.

    Thomas was a king – he was a professional, as always. Molly and Karim had gone home. The number of the clientele in attendance was severely depleted, so the remaining staff here managed the best they could.

    And then the rainclouds sealed the heavens from us forever.

    It was when Thomas was knocked off his feet by the concussions. I looked west and saw the mushroom clouds towering into the skies. I drank my coffee and ate my last home-baked croissant, not caring how much longer I’d have or who I would spend it with. I felt the wind and saw the tidal wave coming – not from the coastline, but from the inland side.

    I remembered my mother and her warnings - how everything I did would condemn me to hell…

    1. This a cool piece. I like the contrast and texture, the juxtaposition of apocalypse and normalcy. You really tapped into something here. I would definitely keep reading.


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