Notes from the
End of the World

Each night in 2020 I’m writing a short post because I want to etch these strange days into my memory before I forget them. Before the world changes completely.

May 3, 2020

Scold

There are advertisements on street corners and bus stops for events that will never occur.

May 2, 2020

Saturday

I wonder if I’ll ever get accustomed to the uneasy combination of sunshine and masks, as if we’re afraid of a perfect spring day.

May 1, 2020

Headlights

You can never see further than your headlights—an old slice of trucker philosophy that makes more sense with each passing year.

April 30, 2020

Outline

I’m beginning to understand why so many novels and television shows are set in the past.

April 29, 2020

Compound

Night walk to the corner bodega and I nearly forgot to wear my bandana.

April 28, 2020

Smile

The smile is the expression that can be seen from farthest away.

April 27, 2020

Diner

Tonight I miss sitting in diners and listening to people murmur and jive, scraping their forks and stirring their coffee.

April 26, 2020

Glum

Maybe I should work on my resume. Instead, I press on with reading The Plague, dropping the book every few pages to marvel at its resonance.

April 25, 2020

Avalanche

Strange how something you’ve heard a thousand times can suddenly knock you over.

April 24, 2020

Drain

Sometimes there’s poetry in anger, and I saw it scrawled across the street this afternoon.

April 23, 2020

Ruins

Flipping through an old notebook last night, I came across a page dedicated to the first time I saw a painting by Hubert Robert.

April 22, 2020

Flowers

There should be a clinical term for the sensation of wanting to look at my phone while looking at my phone.

April 21, 2020

Glacier

I remember the sound of white thunder, that bone-shuddering crack as another piece of a glacier fell into the sea.

April 20, 2020

Fugue

My eyes stutter and loop through the words before me because my attention span has been chewed up by the news.

April 19, 2020

Interference

I find myself frequently returning to a century-old line from The Surrealist Manifesto: “Let yourself be carried along. Events will not tolerate your interference.”

April 18, 2020

Reverb

I thought I’d dreamt about standing before my bookcase and picking up a copy of The Plague by Camus.

April 17, 2020

Mouth

I can’t stop staring at this photograph. I study the woman’s mouth, teeth bared and jaw dropped, probably wrapped around a word like tyranny or freedom.

April 16, 2020

Slow

Maybe I could become a Zen lesson in the art of presence, but it feels more like I have the attention span of a goldfish: understanding the world only nine seconds at a time.

April 15, 2020

Wednesday

Time blurs. Every day feels like it’s either Monday or Saturday.

April 14, 2020

Neon

I remember walking through corridors of jumbled neon and thinking this was the poetry of the nation: the grammar of dead casinos.

April 13, 2020

Window

I stood at the window and watched raindrops slide down the glass like I was six years old again.

April 12, 2020

Object

This season of suspension will forever tint the thoughts of all who survive it. Bright-line moments from recent memory cannot compare.

April 11, 2020

Escape

Consider the word “ecstasy” in its strict sense, a Greek word that describes standing outside of one’s body.

April 10, 2020

Stars

It seems like a tragedy to go through life not knowing the names of the lights overhead.

April 9, 2020

Noise

Last night I dreamt about a god who was angry because the noise of humanity prevented him from sleeping.

April 8, 2020

Sensible

These days I walk to the market like I’m about to commit a poorly-planned crime.

April 7, 2020

Space

And so much space there’s nothing to think about except something resembling god.

April 6, 2020

Lung

Dig the old lady who cut a tiny hole into her surgical mask so she can keep smoking her Benson & Hedges.

April 5, 2020

Park

We wear bandanas and scarves across our mouths like a haphazard gang or makeshift religion.

April 4, 2020

Sound

Sirens and cheers, these are the sounds that shape our days.

%d bloggers like this: