Speaking yesterday at Town Hall, Jeremy Hantford, a candidate for mayor, said that there was a danger of people growing increasingly fatigued by the current crisis, and admitted that after two hundred and forty nine days of what he called “assaultive news and circumstance” he has begun to suffer from a variety of aches, pains, nausea-type sensations, and occasional ideations of self-harm. “If this should continue to happen,” he said, “I can see the possibility of going into a dark room, turning up music as loud as I can stand—maybe it’ll be Public Enemy, maybe Baroness, maybe Diamanda Galas, maybe the African Broken Glass Orchestra, maybe Scott Walker, maybe L7, maybe Iodine Face Freddy, maybe Arturo Roll, maybe Horse Leathers, maybe MC Barbara Anne Harris, maybe Season's Best, maybe Deafheaven—and feeling all of the spirits, both good and bad, both benevolent and malign, flow out of my body. When I’m fully empty, dead in life, I can start to breathe again, with an eye to inhaling only that which sustains.” Several people in the crowd clapped fervently. “He has my vote!” said one man.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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