The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 47

DAY 47: The Death of Decency --

what about being good, kind, how

many points does it count

-- I don't know (we never really

know) but a Jane Goodall, a

Jimmy Carter, a Fred Rogers, a

Michelle -- what happened?

Where are the ones who don't

advertise themselves, who don't

wait until the cameras are

rolling, don't let their greed

show, their malice, their

vanity -- where are the revolutionary

resolutary donations from billionaires

of their entire fortunes, anon-

ymously, now, do it now -- or are 
Bloomberg and Steyer still hiding 
in a basement playing penny-ante 
with no one keeping score?

We need help we're not getting.
HELP US, WE'RE DYING HERE --

the rest of the world used to 

have confidence that the US (us)

would be there in a crisis (we

got your backs, LOL) now the

betrayals of only 3 years

are so bad that other countries turn

away, don't even think of helping the USA

now that we're on our knees --

rolling in our own filth, screaming nonsense,

foaming mouths, bloody eyes popping out --

since we don't even help ourselves

or rather, we've always helped ourselves
gorged ourselves at the banquet without 
the decency to share the table. Just desserts.

I answered my own question.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 46

DAY 46: Human sacrifices -- oh, how

primitive! Those ancients were

savage, horrible, bowing down to idols.

2-3% of the population already

marked with indelible ink, they tell us 
today, they being the 1% we chose as 
leaders, capitalists, makers of money, not

work not creation not humble goodness --

they got their pile, their pile so high

it looks like Mount Everest in the clouds 
in the sky and now the payment

is due -- 2-3% will die 

to reopen factories and malls

burger kings and bowling alleys
poodle clippers and porn shops --

we gladly kill the chosen

the elders, the weak, the kids

the strong, the famous, the

parents of the future parentless

generation -- we sacrifice another

2-3% for GOD DOLLAR
          Booga booga!

to get our money machine 

running again to pull those

levers and chains, on the

chain gang, to push the worker-

slaves with cattle prods back

to pumping gold-red plasma

into the Masters' arms -- we

have chosen, sad as it is, money

sass talks, life is cheap, religion

trumped by true religion,
order trumped by first order --

let's go then! let's start killing!

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 45

DAY 45: When the churches close

I don't give a care, pray at

home, get married next year

not the end of the world like dying is

ah, but funerals -- what happens to 
the corpus spiritus, our collective

psyche and emotional health

when there are no funerals, no send-offs,
when our dearest loved ones, spouses,

children, parents, best friends

beloved grandparents, aunts and

uncles disappear without a

trace, without the closure, the

formality of crying at a funeral
the unsatisfactory poetry
the memories drifting upwards
on the soul of the one you loved

the extended family going out

to lunch afterwards or all

gathering back in the living

room, glasses in hand -- if we have 
no endings, did we ever begin, did we

ever build relationships, did we

do good or be good? Johnny?

if we let people vanish

without a blip like in a 

horror film, apocalyptic blip

disappearances, kids, spouses

your very blip own blip dearly beloved

-- you won't find them by tracing
their cell phones, kidnapped

in an abandoned factory

tied to a folding chair, face covered

with a black cloth bag hiding fake blood

no, they just went abracadabra

poof! -- GONE, here today, hug

and love, celebrate and

cherish, because tomorrow --

silence, nothingness, poof, gone.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 44

DAY 44: Supplies -- I have my meds

peanut butter and coffee

I have a moment of weakness

to curl up like my cat on the

floor, but I don't

I have consternation and

condemnation for the inept

and malicious ones making

decisions on my life -- like in

war, they say, when they

point -- you live, you go. The

inept and malicious command

but never lead, they force 
the enemies and coerce

their (cult) followers to get their
way or pout and whine -- I am

sick of the scams as much as

the virus -- you lie, someone

dies -- wanna buy a mask?

no, I have peanut butter

and coffee, I am uncomfortable

but not going outside, I am not

going out, even if my governor

says I can, even if a doctor

says I can, even if everyone

else does, I'll let them taste

the stew -- and wait to see

who keels over, I have

enough survival instinct to

last longer than my neighbor

who just must absolutely go golfing again
or get that Sunday waffle breakfast

-- his drug, his supply,

his gran finale.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 43

DAY 43: Is it -- all about that bass? --

all about money? ca-ching?

Life and life and death

pain loss sadness tragedy plague

my mother just died

my uncle Bob, my kid was strong

an athlete -- how did you get

sick? -- stay inside, with pride

help the helpers help

you know the economy be 

damned, there are more

important things than money --

wait, a ventilator costs 17 thousand,

do I hear 20, 20, do I hear 30 thou? --

my state my hospital my town is

broke, those checks for the unemployed

vanished? we need our beans and

rice! -- I'm cutting your funds, I'm asking

for donations, I'm donating

.0001 of our brand's yearly profits 

without cutting my own bonus, how much

did Mr. Billionaire donate so far? why

doesn't he build COVID hospitals?

W.H.O.? and we need to open the donut shops
and the "massage" parlors for a stroke

to get the economy up and gushing --

while you can hear the shush of

last breaths if you listen intently -- we need to

get the production-consumption wheel

spinning -- while the streets are

still full of coffins, coffins blocking

every road to the city center, coffins

with no money inside, and an

empty coffin here with your

name on it

written on a post-it

not embossed in gold

leaf yet.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 42

DAY42: Good mourning, America!

I know where good America is,

but where is the mourning?

Where is the grief? I can't find it.

We cry from fear, sadness and anxiety,

but who's crying for the dead? Besides

relatives, who's mourning? Are our heart 

flags lowered at half mast? Do we feel the 

loss? 23,000, 18,000, 57,000, 103, 000 -- is

this a too many numbers game, that's all

we get from the news, and the occasional

famous person or distant relation passed

on, but where is the real numberless mourning

for one dead individual, each one, everyone who

was loved, who left a mark? slowly one by one.

I propose a worldwide moment of silence for each 

one rising -- years and years of silent commemoration.

In the movies, where we've lived

through pandemics before and

we brave protagonists -- beautiful

clever, huge made-up faces and sprayed-down hair --

we survived at the last second

we -- hallelujah -- made it

though most of humanity died

oh well --

there's no mourning there either, just

kisses and credits -- in our nightmares, only

fear, of our own selfish death

being chased by the reaper, running in panic

-- but where's the mourning for

others? is this a narcissism joke?

a paranoia joke? another covid joke?

I hear people laughing, I hear

people talking about money, I hear

people eating with their families

but when that one sad chair is empty

they seem relieved to be there

-- not mourning, it's so hard, as

they/we should, we know we should

we know we must

why don't we?

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 41

DAY 41: Italy vs. USA, world cup

my choice who to root for, my choice

the exile the ex-pat the chooser

I came here, I stayed

I found a home in another's

heart/arms/town with two cats in the

yard (life used to be so hard)

after a century it's still not home

it's okay, but I don't get them

they wouldn't get me either 
if they ever tried

I don't fit in, not one with my

surroundings, not immersed in a

cosmic meditative state like back

in the golden state.

is everybody blocked in high

school growing grey but

hair's still combed that same way?

who cares, my brothers are

there, my parents' graves, my

American house in an American

town -- we're an American band,

singing -- "Don't I Wish I Was There?"

or is here okay, here/there, hunkered 

down with my life-partner, cat, 

work, dream house, and public

healthcare. I can't imagine

risking my life to return to that

advanced sophisticated functioning 

America because it is not -- Trump 

broke it. Crack! Too easy. like a breadstick.

until it's fixed, I'm staying here, holing up

where they don't mess around -- Stay home

means it. Nobody's out. Hashtag. No, I don't 
wish I were back in California, my 
California -- no don't 

no, or yes, a little bit, closer

it's just too long a swim

my shoulders are tired

and nobody here can call

out my name.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 40

DAY 40: They tell you:

everyone is born alone and dies

alone, you die alone for sure

but they won't tell you when
otherwise

I don't want to die

alone

shipped out of my own sick bed

into an ambulance, the gurney

boys bumping my head going down

the stairs -- ouch --

into the sick bay, take off your 
ring, please, it won't come off

-- my family said goodbye back

there like they'd never see me again.

-- I'm stripped and hooked up

monitors, tubes, bottles and machines

up my nose, then down my throat, into 
my flacid air-sacks which hurt so bad

-- can I make one last video call --

I don't know what to say

I can't talk with an air-pump down

into my dripping red lungs -- I sit and wait

watch as they wheel the unfortunates out

the back, into a bag and/or a box,

into a military truck down to an open

pit or a hot oven (hell?) -- no one can

visit us, we can't see the helpers
who go about their business like ghosts

we only see their tired eyes, which say

-- at this point --

you die alone --

okay, but I

I didn't believe them, until now

I didn't get it.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 39

DAY 39: When and if, when and if

shit breaks down, it all goes to hell,

I can't get a good connection

for web teaching -- make do, but but

if my wi-fi shuts down

if the lights go off

if no water comes from the faucet

if there's no heat in winter

if the hospitals close

you're on your own

when shit breaks down

no TV

no Netflix

no more news or numbers

no power tools in the kitchen

no fridge

dishwasher, washing machine

let's move, nope no roads open

car battery's dead anyway

then we are totally fucked

there's no 'make do' then

then it's back to the stone age

in a few weeks, surprise!

better get yourself a gun

to turn this way or that

when shit breaks down

our government already has

lots of farting noise with no

substance, no production

no distribution

what shall we do? what shall

we do?

hug and die, lay down or walk

regret we didn't prepare better

for all the shit that could

conceivably

break down.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 38

DAY 38: Oops Factor -- when shit

goes wrong -- no, you probably

won't get infected if you go run on

the beach alone -- Oops, you did

somehow and now you're dying,

in ICU on a ventilator, she/he's

strong, they'll make it, we'll pray,

Oops out the backdoor in a coffin

straight to the crematorium, no

family allowed near, we'll send you

the ashes if the postal service is

ever working again -- I'm wearing

gloves, so there, Oops, when I 

touched shit then took gloves off

wrong I got germs on my hands

touched my eye before washing up

-- it itched -- then, nothing, I felt okay

Oops fever, fever all through the night,

there's no saying you're sorry, when

you infect someone, they could be

gone, when you had that tupperware

party everyone seemed healthy --

there's no regrets, no going back --

NO OOPS -- it's death, baby

the final frontier, the one Kirk, Spock,

Sulu and Uhura never met, you could

go there easy -- where no one has gone

before -- mass graves, piles of boxes

boxes of ashes -- way too late

for do-overs.

The Quarantine Chronicles, Day 37

DAY 37: Additional fuck yous go to:

the people who had a party on the roof

of our apartment building yesterday --

FUCK YOU, STAY HOME, STAY APART, the 

countries like Sweden that refuse to lock-down, you

kill yourselves and us too -- FUCK YOU

the US that just seems completely stupid

or evil all the way round -- F. YOU

people going to church, weddings, funerals --

FUCK YOU, TO ALL RELIGIONS THAT

CHEAPEN HUMAN LIFE (especially those

that say they don't) people who can't find

a mental hunkerdown and whine like babies

all the time -- you are spreading the antsy whimpy

whining cry-baby virus -- SHUT UP AND COPE!

self-discipline is a thing

learn it, practice it, embrace it, GROW

THE FUCK UP, those who praise doctors

and nurses and find every excuse to

go out -- YOU ARE HYPOCRITES

the doctors and nurses asked us, begged

us, to stay home to help them, for weeks 

or months, okay it's hard, we all crack, but

we do it for them, without complaint and

then for ourselves, their potential failures 

("oh damn, time of death ...") --

in the front door out the back in a box

like an assembly line of death that we must

break, stop, honor and interrupt.