Bodies are being buried in their homes to save the room. The faces of the houses containing those already murdered are painted black to alert the mailmen to mark the mail returned. The wires from the houses are clipped to prevent transmissions in or out. The glass of the windows reflects the light of knives. Houses where a mother or a father or a child alone has become murdered while one or more remains surviving receive not an entire coat of black paint but a square set at the center of the home’s face. In daylight in better neighborhoods the neighbors may bring these homes baskets of soup and bread, bring roses, bring alarms and mace, bring wishful words. There are no maps.
This sentence describes the panic of the American population remaindered in the rising light of rising terror of the murder of ourselves, which I could not begin to bring myself to impart to you directly for the way it might feel too much today like what you’ve done.
Today in America, a wake is waking.
FLOOD: Think of night arrived during the daytime. It was impossible almost even to see out into the streets in the low light of what the bodies brought to pass between them. The fists and faces and their machines brought the blood and bone and organs through the surfaces that had meant to contain them so much longer. The light could look then in onto the middles of the people, their blood, cavities, and brains. There were no hidden places left. All manners of forms of homes and businesses collapsed, the organisms filling up the buildings snapping one into ten inside their sternums under the sound and then ransacking the space around them destroyed until they were done in by whomever else. It fed all through and through us. It moved into us wanting to want more until there was nothing left. All our years done in like that in mere instants while beyond our reach the color of the sky and space beyond us did absolutely jack shit.
Today in America we go to war again flat on our backs. We will hear the morning rising in the sound of the screaming mothers becoming dismantled again as the death toll of our people on this one batch become killed at our own hands. As all hands are all of our hands. Today it doesn’t matter how many people in America become killed because today is another day in America, and tomorrow today is dead.