Sit back and imagine that in this very moment, the most important thing you’ve ever had to do is take one or the other off their ventilator. An undeniably nauseating choice, intrinsically intertwined with egotism, you could argue. One dies, another lives, so on and so forth * or alternatively you could flip the script and kill them both out of mercy. I’ll let you make the decision

This isn’t the apocalypse, the apocalypse would be sexier and more emblematic of our failings. There’d be more Rick Owens and riots, less coughs and sneezing.

Now, back to the centrepiece; empty hospitals house your dying family members. There’s lots of wheezing and cringing hearts as they cough and splutter forth into the abyss. Slowly but surely their internal organs degrade in hopelessness. Now you can’t be there for this sight. Lockdown’s kicked off and those feverish digital raves wont start themselves. ICU beds are precious and those ventilators even more so. Fight or flight? Your grandmother deserves to die as much as the next. Exceptions are hard to define. If the time was for optimism then I hate to see what life has in store. Of course we’re also fucking in a Covid-19 world, now as well, so if your lover doesn’t have an std then maybe they’ll this ever so vicious virus. Frankly I’ve broken a couple of legs for love but I’m not getting out of breath because of it. The present really is afloat in a lagoon of bubbling, black oil. You know, I must say there’s nothing quite like the smell of mass graves in the air.

Folks, I can’t deny that I’m genuinely intrigued, what the fuck have we been doing recently? Self-isolation for weeks, lost selves scrawling out pastoral rainbows, fathers of four crafting dingy hammocks in their middle-class gardens for the fine weather of late. These aren’t the times any of us wanted but hey the groove still goes on. Every moment it seems we’ll be reminded that if it’s not today, it’s tomorrow and if it isn’t tomorrow then it was yesterday. Is death not better than existence? This is just moribund misery. The living aren’t dead and that’s just a damn shame. Hell the almost dead and the dead themselves are better off than us. Of course succumbing to Covid-19 is the mainstream way to go, but hell at least you’re a part of history.

You could look at Covid-19, like some twisted form of natural selection, bulked up by rampant steroid abuse. Just so it could take out half of your family and tell you it did so with a Glasgow smile, That’s a rather ugly glimmer of mercy I’ll be honest.

I wonder how many people will commit suicide because they’re afraid that this is the end? Fascinatingly so the final chapter isn’t the killer itself but rather the prologue before the end truly dawns.

Amidst this chaos and ruin, love continues to die a thousand deaths. Everyone’s stripping each other of their realities; breaking down the finicky trust that remains momentary loss’ aborted son- which has a tendency to contort in BDSM influenced dance moves when threatened Afterwards begin the process of hermetically sealing the doors of your betrothed’s soul. You can break this process down slowly, begin to suffocate it with your hands till all the bleating and blathering in your head stops once and for all. Whose feeling what? Round up, round up. This is the place to be. Ah control, you really like it don’t you? The little slither of power you can get from just one person. Imagine the entire world, writhing and orgasming to your power.

In the post-apocalyptic novel The Road, written by Cormac McCarthy, Mccarthy pictures a newborn baby on a spit roast, consumed as food by the starving and hopeless. If you had to survive beyond the end would you lose your humanity? Would you eat the future, just so the present could continue to thrive on the malformed ego that keeps us going . So apocalyptic, but so prescient, I know.

I’ve been sentenced to several months hard labour, I’m digging the graves, wiping the sweat from my brow and wishing I’d never said the right things after all.

Frankly, I think by the time this is winding down, the masses will have to reckon with the truth that you can’t save everyone.

 

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