The vaccine is coming. This weekend was filled with images of pharmaceutical workers in lab coats and helmets packing vials into cold-storage units. We saw footage of UPS and FedEx trucks rolling across the country to deliver the vaccine to health workers. What will the transition to a post-pandemic world look like? Once a substantial chunk of the population is vaccinated, how long before the mouths of strangers no longer look like a threat—or will the anxiety linger like a bad memory?

These hopeful scenes of vaccine delivery commingled with images of protestors who refused to accept the election results and probably never will. They gathered in Washington DC to wave flags with the president dressed up like Rambo, slicked with sweat and carrying a belt-fed weapon. They carried banners that said “stop the steal” with the ts shaped like Christian crosses. They sang the national anthem as the president passed over them in a helicopter. Four people were stabbed. A group of racists torched a sign they stole from a Black church.

And for a half-insane moment, I imagined those FedEx and UPS trucks rolling through the night might deliver a cure for this anger, that it too might break like a fever.


Aphex Twin – To Cure a Weakling Child

Richard D. James | Warp, 1996 | More
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 times into my memory. Before the world changed completely.
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