reporting live

from the depths of hell. it seems san bernardino is a burning fury once again. while the saint ana winds whip around the embers the people flee outward in a panicked madness. the skies are spotted with pillars of smoke. the savagery of man tears from the soul of the meek as brothers and neighbors battle in the street and loot, breaking windows, shooting guns, crying to the dear lord as helicopters soar overhead recording the apocalypse. a swarming, breathing organism of fucked frenzy has escaped from some subterranean holding cage. the flames lick the air as they dance from one dried palm to the next. if we leave our car and run, we might never make it alive.

sundays

the clouds rolled in, with an impending sort of look to them. as if we should all lug of the storm gear and galoshes, hunker down for the floods, and so on. yet nothing came down from the sky. no rain, no tears, maybe soot, no snow or hail or even a mist. just clouds darkening our days like they had a grudge on the sun. fooling us all. it's going to be a drought, for quite some time they say. it's cold outside for once, but probably not for long.