Bad dreams, bad ideas, bad people, good tics, mites, parasites…sick is well, well is ill, a pail of sick tics down the well wall into the bottomless.
I dream tsutsugamushi–a giant mite on my face as I slumber, or I dream a giant mite on my face as I slumber exposed to the tsutsugamushi flux of the quotidian.
So I googled–I googled (is not this heralding the end?)–microbial apocalypse and second on the list was my own blog, first was a ship in Kazakhstan probably, stranded a few thousand miles from anchorage, or Ankarajastan, but the story was no story, rather an exercise in imagination, imagine a world, imagine a world you awaken to, a world bare of microbes!
Noughtmares, fleet zero horses, riding the tsutsugamushi trail, with flung fruit furrowed into their flesh.