pANDEMIC eCCENTRIC
I hope things never go back to how they were. That normal wasn’t normal. Lost to digitized history seemed to be leisure with gravity, interstitial tranquility. The accuracy of vacancy. Nilness.
I want to lose track of days and check the time only to be surprised at the lateness of the hour. Dusk looming, innocent as a satellite.
Empires collapse, fortunes evaporate, and stocks nosedive into hell—but a deep sleep, a clean shit, and a laugh that shakes your skeleton remain the closest thing humanity has to real wealth.