The Cloisters, New York

Woke from a dream that I was pounding on a counter demanding a cash-back rebate because my soul was damaged. This surreal sensation continued when I stepped outside. Ash Wednesday and people walked the streets with smudged crosses on their foreheads. A beautiful ritual, ancient and haunted. Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. I envy the pageantry of Catholicism; it’s religion as art. Perhaps aesthetics can be a reason for otherworldy faith.

Today these smudges of ash looked a touch apocalyptic as coronavirus anxiety continues to take root. Squint a little and they might be a mark of infection or the protective omen of some new sect.

Flanked by health officials, the president held a rambling press conference and told us not to worry before blaming the Democrats. New infections are reported alongside articles that say it might not be a bad idea to gather supplies. Fill your prescriptions. Pick up some extra food and water. Be prepared for delays. How far will this thing go? Will history record this as a blip or is this the start of something bigger?

Bremen – Threshold Crossing

From Second Launch | Blackest Ever Black, 2014 | Bandcamp
Each night in 2020, I wrote a short post for a series called Notes From the End of a World because I wanted to etch these days into my memory. Before the world changed completely.
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