He wakes up. Does he? He does. Vibrating pillow. Tweaks. Hazelnut coffee. Rice and peanut butter and broccoli and cake and cakes and cake. Glenn Greenwald is charming and speaks quickly. Glenn Greenwald is tired. Glenn Greenwald’s film crew films behind the scenes of his epic book tour. He reads. He does some art. He drinks some water. He imagines he is on a hill swash buckling a small group of animated skeletons. It is night but the fires from the burning forest below and the large full moon light the desperate action on the cliff top. He slips the skeletons rally and dash but it was but a feint and a twists and with ease slices them all over the clouds fading them on the rocks below but the night has only just begun. He is not hungry but he eats some vegetables. It makes him feel better. He probably eats a taco. He lies down. He plays a video game that is supposed to be art. It probably is art. It probably is overrated. It is overrated. He watches a man get onto a bus. He watches a woman get off a bus. He watches pixels explode in misty clouds of blood, digital viscera smears itself across the screen. He is moved to disgust then unmoved because it isn’t real but maybe it is real. Then he reads. Then he sleeps.
He wakes up. Biology is not Destiny. He senses the impending doom of a new mass extinction like animals before an earthquake or tsunami or war. He has a shower. He has a hazelnut coffee. He drives through suburbia. It looks like a film set all flimsy fronts held up on wooden supports. Abandoned yet well kept. A dog barks and then runs with the car. Then Noises but only in the distance as if activated by a sound engineer. Lawn mowers, water sprinklers, children playing, the spit and sizzle of a weekday cook out. He sits in a parking lot and watches dreams crumble geologically. He wonders why medical help has to accord with patient values in America where the prime question might be will this make me better and will I have a good quality of life not does Jesus cry when I get this kind of surgery or is big government also benefiting from my good health in which case let me die let me die let me die I want no part in hurting Jesus or helping big government. He takes photographs of strip malls, artificially aged signs, a discarded school baseball stadium, a supply store with the same name as a German war hero. The light is adequate. He sees street names that remind him of Scotland. He is irritated when a woman orders her drink before she pays even though she is behind him in the queue and she gets her drink first even though he did things in the right order. There is no justice in this world he thinks and then his mind travels to more important matters like accidentally appearing in pornography and anxiety about the terminal velocity of life. When aliens arrive from outer space the reason they will destroy the human race will be the continuing toleration Jeremy Kyle. This is the one solid conclusion he reaches from his morning thinking. He smells the fall of Rome, tastes the last days of Marienbad, hears the dismantling of the Ottoman Empire. Oceans of old white men rise up with claw hands to drown everything rather than share -grasping and straining their staring eyes pleading for undeserved sympathy. Give us more their gnashing teeth grind out myths over and over and over. Ears bleed. Meanwhile he enjoys a chai tea latte and a chocolate brownie. The sun comes out and the day looks glorious and washed clean through the Windows of the Starbucks. He takes up too many seats but he is in a selfish mood so he treats himself to this unnecessary but joyous extra leg room. He listens to strangers talk about secession and revolution and the overreach of the federal government as they sip their frappuccinos and soy lattes on comfortable couches. He finds a beer branded with the Caricatured face of Edgar Allan Poe brewed in Baltimore which seems very inappropriate as he died drunk in a gutter in Baltimore. He watches Dancing with the Stars and weeps as they glide across the stage. He eats salad and then falls asleep.