Let's not drown the dog before this ends, These bullet points and I

People are very scared and they're not responding to any of this very well. My wife has pointed out that some of them will be returning to work, whether they want to or not. I think you’ve probably seen the large number of runners and the walkers, either with or without their dogs attached to them. They're all over the sidewalks in and around the city, making it hard to properly distance with so many people being unwilling or incapable of accepting the reality of this threat among those trying in vain to do so. The flowers won't stop, they'll keep growing over the dead racists too, you'll see. At the edge of the highways and in that small room behind the balconies where the light once played from it's hole. Our narratives should absorb our pain and loss, they're a reflection of our shared tragedy after all. They're the exposed purpose of our limitations within corners that have been constructed with something else, another riddle even? Our inadequacies materialize inside the inky shadows at the back of the stage. Floating there on the slack linen, refusing any light from above being petty. The dead racists will worry at the bottom of their holes, waiting to be forgotten too. They'll hope to be called up front or to have forgotten their names or the place in which their pants once stirred. The dead racists will hold onto their pets maiden names or the cities they were born as if these were a secret code or some other meaningful myth. But eventually dead racists will get on with being dead too.

Flicker the many homeless shapes that make a lonely hour, light up the night from which I'm viewing this. I'm feeling neutered, run down by gladiators and pulled under by the bathing beauties from the deep end. I'm compromised and leaking here. Hissing and spitting, but there's not that much more left in this piss-pool. This bus is old while that one is really yellow, its many dents have been spooned out warmly by nutters and lonely men. Later, after I've come down I'll find myself wandering around here naked and looking for my spacesuit. I'll want to find my golf paddle to disinfect the living room and that old television in the hallway. "The collaborative, called West Side United is investing money through four community development financial institutions — IFF, the Chicago Community Loan Fund, Local Initiatives Support Corp. and Accion Chicago — that are certified by the U.S. Department of Treasury to finance businesses, nonprofits, micro enterprises and affordable housing for low-income communities. These institutions will offer loans to small businesses and organizations on the West Side that fulfill community needs, such as by supplying affordable housing, health foods or jobs," the llama in the yak has a very small voice, it's shower has never worked well but she continues to sing.

Lest there be any mistake, this is not really altering the right worldviews. As long as UPS is still delivering they'll continue trying to shut down the post office, jail one Clinton or another and still have time to make it to a megachurch for some brunch and light prayer. Some of them might need the resources that a functioning healthcare system would supply to them but lets face it many more will be more comfortable spiting its absence and blaming some uppity feminist for its disappearance. Our friendly right leaning neighbors don't think that the grocery clerks or pizza persons need to be paid any better today than they were before any of this. Most them being pot smoking threats to our culture or slugs getting fat on the tips they don't deserve anyway. They're central to the doctrine of political conceit our gender fluid troops of the left find so slavishly right on! Yesterday our country needed to be saved. But once Columbus has set sail, there's no getting those boats back in their bottles. Walking backwards through Tuesday, among the great ducks and the tall walls that glide along side the park! I might as well be naked but I'll always be flat and broken. I'm as done as any busker's busted bed ever is. Alone and as busy as an orderly tramp introducing themselves, saying Hello! I'm walking backwards right now and the sign above me is broken. It used to say that the hotel was open for business but it stopped doing that awhile ago.

We're sitting and shitting ourselves. We're happily, screaming for more when we've dun so little to help our own friends, defined as they are. All of those delivery people, the drivers for whichever technocrat, union busting app preferred service you should choose to ferry your anxious ass around, the security guards, grocery store staff and bus drivers that can't sit at home like you and binge Harry Potter while pissing and moaning about the cost of hand sanitizer or why the guvment ain't doing more, make no mistake all of you are voting for all of the unethical morally bankrupt chowder pots with each and every one of these thoughtless actions. All of you kind hearted and well meaning huggers that haven't translated the actual distance between feeling bad can still be don't bad, you're also culpable. Your own grief is your vehicle and it's driving you right by an entire population of disenfranchised people who have no choice but to ease your pain in their time of need

It's not appalling to see the actions of these executives right now, I expect this behavior from them. It's the countless others that refuse to evaluate their own actions and reset their own courses based on what they're seeing. We're greedy and terrible because we can be.

I think that this is probably winning. It's not like being full of wet pearls in the street but it does reflect that binary effort seeming extra harmless on the lawn. I think it gets a blue ribbon for inventing hate bears. Particularly for inventing the wet hate bears that follow the trains to work. They might live on a shelf inside of something plastic but they're stil white and evil!

I understand that it’s not a medieval plague of death or even like the influenza outbreak from 1918 but the gravity of it is nonetheless daunting. The unique corona-virus is exposing cracks across multiple layers of systems which have been running on inertia since well before the appearance of the virus. Regardless of sharing each others beliefs about politics or social engagement the daily onslaught of media constantly sharing all the awful up to the minute truths about people suffering here and everywhere is itself becoming just another symptom, another unbearable ache among the other consequences that might be something just short of death itself.

"Where're your Nixon's math now? All of its beat up fonts are just as dirty as his were? Have your days been as quiet or spoon fed to all them flat ass people left awake in Ohio?" The old buildings, all of those hot summer hotels by the lake, sitting under their city pigeons with the dirt bags who read the ends of their paper by hand.

The old buildings can't fly away soon enough and the news of them never makes these papers pages. The hotel kitchens are empty and the old men waiting in their freezer will have better luck elsewhere. "Goodbye Ohio, Chicago's not your Rome. This tit in your flashlights going poor and the Lincoln that you left here has its other door, waddle waddle."

For a very long time our management around here has been serving us some poor thin soup and in its time they've pretended doing otherwise. Make no mistake, many of us can benefit from the risk that others will assume. While we're waiting to eat our own young the management is watching from across the table. We're looking to do better for ourselves but we won't, will we? Maybe it's because we're trivialists and shitty tippers who wallow like lazy voters in the vague language of so many lungs. Here in our period of unprecedented wealth we've been absolute only in maintaining the reserves of our mendacity. It has gotten us right where we set out to be, stewing in this shit soup, agog among these shit songs as the whole shitty mess waits for it's flushing.

"I've got nothing more to say about that."

Regardless of what language any of us speaks, all of us can understand suffering. Particularly, as its being served up on a paper platter that's so familiar. Here it is, ripped from the day's headlines and below it there's a photo credit to my neighbor, this is what most of us are seeing from wherever we happen to be watching. My covid looks very much like every bodies covid.

While much of this could have been avoided by not leaving the house or washing our hands thoroughly. Instead scared people didn’t do these things immediately or at all. They continued to jog in the park or to take cruise ships to exotic locations. Some of them shared their belief that this is a conspiracy or that the way in which to respond to and unstoppable force is by presenting their determined and unflappable sense that nothing had changed or was changing. In the morning, like every morning they would be able to wake up and to get in their cars, cheat on their taxes and drop the kids at daycare.

Here we've been all along. There are special spiders along the lines of the field up there. There's football on that hill. Young people in pants interrupting their evolution for the thrill of it while I'm aimless here and patient, tired and sick in spirit as my humors run gone. I'm a thumb and quiet, one that's burrowed itself in the softness of my own eye. Here's this curvical mass digging out tomorrow, getting through this is not going to correct anything. As the current state of our economy is unrelenting. Its thirst for accumulation at the expense of our already empty bucket is like any other Dodge or Ford. There'll be no more time for take out or for any new glasses soon.

"Can't this be worked out?"

Turning all over and around inside of these days. Notching each one in my belt while circling the soup with all of these gnats and their foster fleas. Each of us ache for our seat and our spoon but my time at the porridge is usually lost by about noon or on Tuesday when the fifth intends to come back around us. I've been told that my chair's in the mail still but then the box there is always on fire. If I return again tomorrow, my issue will be resolved quietly and without fuss. So I turn back around and take this test like a bird.

"But someday we'll talk, right?"

I can talk my gnat talk while waiting my turn for my own terrible box on a month from the calendar where all the days won't jump out and bite me, for the spit in this jug to settle back below the line its finally climbed over. Well past Monday with it's grape and it's bellows, out where its simple and as fuzzy as old elephants get. Here there's a broken and winsome white tooth howling at any whispers of light, nude among the cadence of so many bleeding hungry ass sores. An car inside a long dark tunnel, a situation that's without weather on top or not.

"Worn without monsters, this mask am I."

She's a wretch in this, a thing without a seat on bus with two mean doors. "Hello Peg, it’s me Emily have you lost that little bear of yours? There's a pile of liver bones here beneath the sofit, s'why I'm asking now." Her body's a massacre of hangnails and tobacco'd teeth. Peg's always been rich in something but who would have known it would turn out being something so naked or so frail. Since recognizing this, she's tried swapping away some of the more rough patches where her neck or ass once gathered together and have since left entirely. She's tried spilling her beans, eating the daisies and many other things that have been known to float an idle boat or two. But sadly, all off it's been for naught and win or lose, you just can't unplay the lottery once that bell's been rung.

Now fractured and tumbling across our table, it's as if the sky is being pulled across the surface of some spilled milk. Aimless is the spider's game! Its flowers all pollinated by tiny shrimp from beside an entombed Modigliani whose fell kitten's toes have rested now right below his eyes. They're slightly wet and tube like, very much as Roma jewels might be, sick with same old world cough! Something's still clogged with the lives humid among the streets beside the beans and broken fires where sheets fall from frayed lines onto wet shit strewn cobble.

Let's pig it up with these electric teeth, making petty sound sound so big and ambitious. Let's bake our pies and talk about them, the person beside us might want to know something more. Its warming up in the south our heading. We should open the back of our car before going and share our extra shoes. Here are some thoughts, let's declare us a bank holiday and suspend those stocks from trading for a bit to the left. Let's stabilize the interest rates with a single word and let everyone be an American for a minute or more. Let's pour the weight of our resources into many more slim but efficient packages that are earmarked for saving us from so much folly. Let's be the umbrella that we seek and research the necessity of so many rainy days because we are the funnel and down has been our math.