Laura Jedeed (Misanthrophile)

"And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?" The old things die. The new world begins to form in the morning mist. By tonight we will know its shape, if not its particulars Win? Loss? Toss-up? Contested?

We go forward into this future armed with whatever we managed to gather to us, these past few months Our knowledge. Our trauma. Camaraderie and community and enmity. Our friends, our gear, the instincts we've developed For better and for worse, the starting places are now fixed

I look around and am somewhat surprised to see who has remained on the line and who has dropped off. Not entirely who I would have expected Pour out a cold one for the person I was sure would be standing next to me today The old things pass. New things slouch forward to be born