10/25 Don't Face Apocalypse Alone

seventh of September twenty twenty Went outside for the first time in 100 days the moon and mars met in the night and now the air is campfire smoke wind blustering bewitched sky tinged pink above the red neon sign for the mission across the street twenty twenty what the hell are you doing Pandemic shutdown. Eerie quiet punctured by roars of sound that have ripped out my ear canals and sent shock waves through my system. People screaming - horrible things: "go home stay home" and "I hope you die". Fear of getting sick. Fear of deliberately being made sick. Fear of "tracers". Protest infiltrators. Police brutality. Snatch-and-grab kidnappings. Garbage cans being set on fire. False flags. Severe injuries from munitions. Dangers of CS Gas. Dangers of expired CS gas. No one knows the long term damage because it hasn't happened on this scale yet. twenty twenty what the hell are you doing Protesters are arrested and let go without charges but their mugshots are posted online for people to find who might want to hurt them. Prisoners inside the justice buildings inadvertently gassed too. Every night is another war crime or a civil rights violation recorded in plain sight - but it's as if it's all too much for anyone, even the A C L U , to do anything about - at least not very quickly. twenty twenty what the hell are you doing Four cops pick someone out of the crowd, tackle them, pepper spray them in face while being held on the ground, punching them in the head. They tell press to disperse when they have a right to stay. Declaring riots within minutes which allows them to use munitions. It's as if they're trying to get people to want to defund them. Or they're retaliating with impunity - I don't know what's more frightening. News media and politicians painting protesters in a negative light, stirring proud boys to counter-protest. Making you question just who runs this town, or if the philosophy of progress made Portland a target. twenty twenty what the hell are you doing Over 100 days, the people march until midnight when the crowds thin and cops start bull rushing remaining protesters who try to get away, throwing back canisters thrown at them. Feels like there's no one to really call for help; desperately whispering the question: "who polices the police?" but no one answers me because I'm sitting here all alone, by myself, reading updates from Twitter and hearing booms go off in the distance since June. Or, a few times, right on my street, around 3am. Despite the clubs being shut down, I've given up trying to sleep at night. Feels like there's no one to really call for help; desperately whispering the question: "who polices the police?" twenty twenty what the hell are you doing All of downtown psychologically tortured, textbook definition, and then into the neighborhoods. Portland had its deadliest month in 30 years, one hundred and fifty rounds fired near where I used to live. twenty twenty what the hell are you doing Forest fires break out. Air quality: Hazardous. People have been calling this a "smoke break" from the protests. If it isn't the end of days, it sure looks like it. They say being out in the air is like smoking 15 cigarettes. I don't want to die, but good god I want a cigarette. I know that isn't logical, but come the fuck on, I'm stressed. Every day closer to possible eviction, I filled out some paperwork, but I don't know if I'm going to get any help. Another check for less than a few year's existence isn't going to cover it, and I can't believe our government would let people hang in the balance this long - why not implement something earlier so people weren't scared all summer - unless that's what you wanted? twenty twenty what the hell are you doing When you calculate every danger, it starts to feel like a holocaust. Social murder. Stacking variables, stacking threats, pushing us into cognitive dissonance. Can't breathe outside the system, can't breathe inside the system. Don't hold your breath that this world will get better without everyone's help, without everyone getting better, or that this is ever the end of it. twenty twenty what the hell are you doing