Night light in Central Park, NYC

A hot and muggy Sunday, the kind of day that’s begging for a thunderstorm. At dusk, it finally came, followed by another wall of humidity. We had a pleasant June for a while, but the long mean heat of summer is finally here. Beyond this, I’m losing the plot.

Russian bounties on the heads of American soldiers. Pandemic denial despite headlines about surges, spikes, and overburdened systems. People are buying “mask exemption cards” from a fictional outfit called the Freedom to Breathe Agency. You can buy 500 laminated cards for fifty bucks. This morning our president shared a video of one of his supporters hollering white power from a golf cart. And on and on until god knows what happens in November.

Went for an ugly late-night run through the park to empty my head. I still prefer running at night because nobody can see me cry. Last night I wondered about the origins of the words peace and please as I fell asleep, and I became convinced the two concepts were etymologically connected. (They’re not.) Tonight I might contemplate the dynamics between victim and victor.

Recondite – Humid Green Haze

Theater II | Dystopian, 2017 | 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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Every night the Electrifying Mojo would sign off with the same message and I want us to hear it in our heads now, delivered in a slow baritone with a grin around the edges.
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