My Countrymen, perhaps disaster is our only hope.
who dares to catch these whispers, dense as lead? what last words, love? what were the last ones said? will all these voices wilt when we are dead? could someone spare a crane to lift this head? The Lights! The Lights! phosphorous piercing shards swarming ants the concaves of my skull the dead the dead … Continue reading The Apocalypse Diaries (Day Nine: 3-21-2020)