tomorrow is happening

We are sleepwalking into this. There is a deafening noise inside our heads as we step with heavy feet into tomorrow. It's the chorus of those who won't make it through the many coming tomorrows. They are condemning us from the days and years ahead. They are crying at us to stop shambling into this grotesque and garish moment, even though they know it is pointless. They see us moving in a direction dictated by the physics of hatred. These immutable laws of American death-life.

It feels like one of those half-awake dreams—the ones experienced while floating on a dissipating current of consciousness. In these moments, you watch your dreamself do things you would never do in the real. You look on as you make choices that embarrass you or scare you or anger you.

This part of you, it watches on right now on this Sunday afternoon. Outside, it's windy and the sky is bright blue and the January air is so cold. The fireplace is on and the dogs are enjoying the sunlight through the window. Your wife is here and she can still find joy despite of knowing what will come tomorrow. You love her for this.

What you see in front of you isn't a dream. But you can still hear the future's ghost chorus. The part of you that sometimes witnesses your dreams joins them. Today is the day before it all starts, and your head is full of the future's fury.