Dispatches from the End of the World
Day 21. Three Weeks.
I always thought we would go out in a bang. Maybe it was probably all those lies we've been fed all these years about creation in seven days, or the fact that I never really understood the theory of the Big Bang, but I thought we would end just as fast as we'd begun. Nuclear holocaust. The explosion of the sun. The explosion of the Earth. Instead we're just fading away, little by little, like guests at some overlong party.
Life hasn't changed that much, but I guess there isn't much of a jump from unemployment to quarantine.
On quiet days we're able to run out to the garden, rip out as many plants as we can and repot them on the deck. We've got mint, for mojitos, as long as the rum lasts. The tomatos are coming in better than we'd imagined, when we first saw them sprouting out of the weeds.
We drink. We smoke the hookah. We read books. We watch movies. We go on MySpace to see who's left, and we write.
I guess you could call it a meme, but I've never felt a meme before. The first day, three bulletins: I'm here.
The second day, one hundred bulletins: I'm here.
The third and fourth days, five hundred bulletins apiece: I'm here.
The fifth day: Four hundred and ninety seven bulletins.
The sixth day: Four hundred and seventy bulletins.
The seventh day: Four hundred and thirty three.
One week. Enough time to create a whole new world. The twenty-first day, noon: Just a little over two hundred bulletins, with probably another hundred before nightfall.
xx0xx: I'm here.
Party Pauper: I'm here.
Dori, an online friend from who I've only met once in person: I'm here.
Soul~Namaste, who is now ChiIll Zombie Hunter: I'm here.
Reverend Chyna is losing her Mind Alone: Still lost. Still here.
I read each one, or at least, I look to see who's left. The game has gone from having the most friends, to having the most friends alive. I never thought I'd be blogging with the world literally crumbling around me, but there's not really much left to do.
The power grids held. The water still runs, even if we've got no gas to heat it. Phones are down.
Martial law isn't as bad as I thought it would be, mostly cause I'm not leaving the house. On the first day, when real people still outnumbered the ghouls, we rioted. We looted. Power strips, canned goods, DVDs, beer, pills, paper. I got a lot of paper. I got a lot of paper and nice pens. No one will take them from me, not yet. There's no run on paper.
Romance. There's two sides to it. There always is. I run through a roster of girls I always wanted to fuck but never did. I think about how Sarah was more and more, trying to get me to consider living with her. If I'd felt ready then, we'd been together now.
Sarah always hated zombie movies, even the joke ones. She'd see that wide shot of that street, lined with people that aren't people anymore. She'd look over at me and tell me that she wouldn't be able to do it. She'd just off herself. So far she hasn't. More than anything else I've ever seen, it leads me to believe she has hope. Maybe she's just too afraid to do it. Maybe she's just too afraid to do it alone. We tell each other we love each other. We tell each other how much food we have left. We recount the distance between our houses. Twenty minutes by car. An hour by bike. An hour and a half by train. Three or four hours walking. An eternity.
The government tried to institute a draft. No one listened. Armored trucks went door to door for a week, building an army of people too scared to stay at home, or to brave for their own good. Our neighborhood gang takes care of us. Some variant of the Latin Kings. Folks nation. They shoot their way to California twice a week for the meeting. Three hours to get out of our house and talk to other humans. It's like a cross between a neighborhood watch meeting, a swap shop, and a singles mixer. Everyone is just so scared and lonely.
It's hot. I'm sweaty, and I'm glad that I have more clothes than I'll ever need, so I don't have to wash them that much. The casual encounters on Craigslist are still desperate and hilarious. People reaching out just to find someone in their building.
Guns for Ass - M4W - Homer St at Western
LOOKING FOR COMPANIONSHIP - W4? - 1517 W SHERWIN - LETS GET 2GETHER
It's my parent's house. They're doing alright. My uncle Lee sets the computer up for Bubbe to write a letter each week, and then sends the email. She still lights candles every Shabbos, on her Christian daughter-in-law's table. She still has faith. She wants us
Turn up the faucet and you can't hear the screams.
Turn up a movie and you can't hear the screams.
Turn up your music and you can't hear the screams.
Fire up a porno and you can't hear the screams.
Autumn's listening to Duane Eddy. I'm listening to Ghostface Killah.
The woman below us is fucking her husband like there's no tomorrow. The woman below her is holding her dogs and crying.
The birds still start chirping at three in the morning.
The bubbles gather in the tub under the faucet. The smoke plumed out of my mouth and gathers at the ceiling. As it passes by the window, I realize it must be beautiful out today.
I always thought we would go out in a bang. Maybe it was probably all those lies we've been fed all these years about creation in seven days, or the fact that I never really understood the theory of the Big Bang, but I thought we would end just as fast as we'd begun. Nuclear holocaust. The explosion of the sun. The explosion of the Earth. Instead we're just fading away, little by little, like guests at some overlong party.
Life hasn't changed that much, but I guess there isn't much of a jump from unemployment to quarantine.
On quiet days we're able to run out to the garden, rip out as many plants as we can and repot them on the deck. We've got mint, for mojitos, as long as the rum lasts. The tomatos are coming in better than we'd imagined, when we first saw them sprouting out of the weeds.
We drink. We smoke the hookah. We read books. We watch movies. We go on MySpace to see who's left, and we write.
I guess you could call it a meme, but I've never felt a meme before. The first day, three bulletins: I'm here.
The second day, one hundred bulletins: I'm here.
The third and fourth days, five hundred bulletins apiece: I'm here.
The fifth day: Four hundred and ninety seven bulletins.
The sixth day: Four hundred and seventy bulletins.
The seventh day: Four hundred and thirty three.
One week. Enough time to create a whole new world. The twenty-first day, noon: Just a little over two hundred bulletins, with probably another hundred before nightfall.
xx0xx: I'm here.
Party Pauper: I'm here.
Dori, an online friend from who I've only met once in person: I'm here.
Soul~Namaste, who is now ChiIll Zombie Hunter: I'm here.
Reverend Chyna is losing her Mind Alone: Still lost. Still here.
I read each one, or at least, I look to see who's left. The game has gone from having the most friends, to having the most friends alive. I never thought I'd be blogging with the world literally crumbling around me, but there's not really much left to do.
The power grids held. The water still runs, even if we've got no gas to heat it. Phones are down.
Martial law isn't as bad as I thought it would be, mostly cause I'm not leaving the house. On the first day, when real people still outnumbered the ghouls, we rioted. We looted. Power strips, canned goods, DVDs, beer, pills, paper. I got a lot of paper. I got a lot of paper and nice pens. No one will take them from me, not yet. There's no run on paper.
Romance. There's two sides to it. There always is. I run through a roster of girls I always wanted to fuck but never did. I think about how Sarah was more and more, trying to get me to consider living with her. If I'd felt ready then, we'd been together now.
Sarah always hated zombie movies, even the joke ones. She'd see that wide shot of that street, lined with people that aren't people anymore. She'd look over at me and tell me that she wouldn't be able to do it. She'd just off herself. So far she hasn't. More than anything else I've ever seen, it leads me to believe she has hope. Maybe she's just too afraid to do it. Maybe she's just too afraid to do it alone. We tell each other we love each other. We tell each other how much food we have left. We recount the distance between our houses. Twenty minutes by car. An hour by bike. An hour and a half by train. Three or four hours walking. An eternity.
The government tried to institute a draft. No one listened. Armored trucks went door to door for a week, building an army of people too scared to stay at home, or to brave for their own good. Our neighborhood gang takes care of us. Some variant of the Latin Kings. Folks nation. They shoot their way to California twice a week for the meeting. Three hours to get out of our house and talk to other humans. It's like a cross between a neighborhood watch meeting, a swap shop, and a singles mixer. Everyone is just so scared and lonely.
It's hot. I'm sweaty, and I'm glad that I have more clothes than I'll ever need, so I don't have to wash them that much. The casual encounters on Craigslist are still desperate and hilarious. People reaching out just to find someone in their building.
Guns for Ass - M4W - Homer St at Western
LOOKING FOR COMPANIONSHIP - W4? - 1517 W SHERWIN - LETS GET 2GETHER
It's my parent's house. They're doing alright. My uncle Lee sets the computer up for Bubbe to write a letter each week, and then sends the email. She still lights candles every Shabbos, on her Christian daughter-in-law's table. She still has faith. She wants us
Turn up the faucet and you can't hear the screams.
Turn up a movie and you can't hear the screams.
Turn up your music and you can't hear the screams.
Fire up a porno and you can't hear the screams.
Autumn's listening to Duane Eddy. I'm listening to Ghostface Killah.
The woman below us is fucking her husband like there's no tomorrow. The woman below her is holding her dogs and crying.
The birds still start chirping at three in the morning.
The bubbles gather in the tub under the faucet. The smoke plumed out of my mouth and gathers at the ceiling. As it passes by the window, I realize it must be beautiful out today.
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