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Of You

A hand holds a closed jar full of sparkling lights.

Good morning. I started the pandemic, and I’ve been writing about that.

I recently started using a Twitter account I had been saving, in the hopes that Elon Musk would by it.

After 24 hours, only two followers. Sex chat bots, whom I blocked.

That’s way different than what happened the other times I made or activated Twitter accounts. Then I always had several followers within hours. What kind of followers?

Well, I have a book that will be published, eventually. It’s called The Art of Taking: Social Media and the Plot to Destroy Humanity. And that book goes pretty in depth into what kinds of followers a person might get on that site.

But enough of that gloom and doom for the day. Elon has already made some changes that seemed to make a lot of people happy, and I am looking forward to seeing what he does with the platform.

So what am I doing? Knowing that everyone I ever loved was evil, or lost to it? And that my government is full of child rapists and cowards, if they’re human at all? What do I do knowing the only humans left can be stolen in only a microsecond, and leave their wife bruised and bloody before they go to work the next day?

I study. I get up early. Make coffee. Drink tea. And look at the stars. I study languages, and mathematics, and shelter making. And the fact that if anyone knows that they probably wouldn’t care feels like the indistinct pressure of an unimposing force pressing near to my stomach. Instead of something that turned each of my cells into toilets, flushing us from the inside out.

The stars seem benign and I study geography, and get to learn all the names of the countries my country has bombed.

That’s what I do. And that’s why I can feel this calm. Because for all this to have happened, and for that kind of peace, in so much evil and loneliness, to still exist, there must at least once have been a God. and what a glory, what a pleasure, what an opportunity, to be able to still feel the echo of what was good.