Corona Blog

Day, whatever.
18
nawruz
Yes, the air has cleared and the stars at night are bright and many, sharp against black, and yes it is quiet enough to hear their distant twinkle.
In the day the chicharras rattle out of their shells, sonic, inter dimensional, between skins, the final season along earth's wobble, between the oceans, at the core.
So day is sound and night is silent, as it should be.
And lovers lie close boosting their immunity, feeding the viral frenzy of toilet paper and willful encarceration. They are everywhere in this, which ends where the path no longer goes, ends at the forest line, ends at the water.
Costa Ricaca
I just want to blast rock and roll at the valley, bring your records and your old record player here, your speakers, leave them to me and I will play deep uninterrupted late-night music, late at night.
I want all the street lights down in the town to dim for deep dozing, for the dickheads.
All those men friends who insist that nightlights make it easier and safer to sleep.
That phones make you smart.
That cars make you dapper.

Dreamstate is neither safe nor easy.
The dickheads owe it to themselves.

Infectious or non infectious, disease makes us hungry, and horny.
The empty tank light starts blinking.
Coasting can only get you so far and the kids won't unbuckle unassisted.