I do not want to read my Spanish

Everyone, meet David. (Long "A", like...Ovid.)
















HI DAAAAAAAHVID!

A couple of months back, we had a house auction. I auctioned off cleaning a bathroom. David decided he has higher ambitions than being a housekeeper, and, instead of offering a foot massage, abstract math tutoring, or one uninterrupted hour of cuddling UNDER the covers in his bed (which totally would have gotten the highest price out of all the items auctioned off), he offered his services to write a short story with whatever words the buyer would specify.

So I have nothing to write about. But David did. And I felt like drawing pictures on paint. Here is his story, with accompanying pictures. I have titled it, and I did not change anything, although I WAS tempted to change each indefinite or definite article into a hieroglyph, or to swear word, such as "shit." So, a sentence would actually sound something like: Shit quick brown fox jumped over shit lazy dog.

The specified words were: llama, rational zero test, and some other words I forget.

Dear everyone,

First of all, I'm okay. I know you must have been worried, and I'm sorry I couldn't get in touch with you sooner. The cell towers around Hyde Park are down, and the school Internet connection has been cut. Someone (I can't say who in case this letter gets intercepted) is getting this out for me.

You've probably been following everything on the news, so you probably have a better idea of what's going on than I do. All I see is the little slice of whatever happens around me.
For example: Last night a group of people (probably students, but you can't be sure these days) arrived at the building we're holed up in, about halfway between Shoreland and campus. We're blockaded on all sides, supposedly, but somehow these people got through, riding llamas(!) that were strapped with extra ammo and Gatorade to sell us. Declan, who was also in Michelson (most of us stuck together), seemed to know them, and I think he tried to trade some rare books from our stash for a llama, but they weren't interested.




















It's telling that I didn't realize quite how strange that sounded until I wrote it out.

Do you remember the tower on top of the Reynolds Club? The student radio station used to be there, but now it’s been taken over by a group who broadcast as “Radio Free Science: the voice of reason”, but really they're anything but. They always call for all non-science people to be killed, and start off with WWII-style code words, like 'broken bottle' or 'spider rose'.
The other day they got taken over by some other faction and became “Radio Humanity” for a little while. They just talked about heartless science majors at first, but then gunshots started in the background, and their broadcaster changed tone and said that she wanted to point out to everyone that with the streetlights all shot out or uprooted, we can look up at night and see the stars. Then there was an explosion, and the station went off the air for a few hours.
It's back to being Radio Free Science now. But she was right – we really can see the stars.

This girl from Michelson, Bridget

Alright, I'm back. There's no way you could tell I was gone, of course, but we just repelled an attack; one of the packs of roving math majors. They weren't in the best of shape even before all this started, ever since the Rational Zero Test was disproved, and when they got their hands on some guns – well, some of them just snapped. Jimmy (I think you met him) was a math major too, but he stayed with us. Two days ago, he went out to try to talk to some of them, but he didn't come back.











Listen, there's something I have to tell you. The day they signed the World Peace Accord, there was a celebration on the quad, with a giant screen to watch the ceremony and everything. Before it started (I'm sure you heard all this on the news, or read it in the paper) an army truck pulled up, with a Confederate flag all across the back. A couple of soldiers got out, and started ranting though a megaphone about the evils of general disarmament – what you'd expect. We booed them a bit, but then they opened up the back of the truck, and it was filled with weapons they were offering for sale. Mostly army rifles, M16s that would have just been destroyed otherwise.


















I have to confess: I bought one too. I didn't realize what I was doing. I thought it would just be a souvenir, to show my kids someday from back when the world had armies. I wasn't thinking.
I wasn't at the frat party where the fight which started this war broke out, but I still bought a gun – I kept the violence alive, brought it here. I helped start this.




















We have a hospital bus (remember those?) and we've armored it with all the scrap metal we could find, like they used to do in Iraq. When night falls, we're going to punch through the blockade, get to campus, and try to storm the hospital. If we manage, we can surrender to the government, let them land helicopters on the roof, try and bring things under control.
I know you must want me to get out of here, try to come home. But I can't. I helped start this. And now I have to help finish it. By the time you read this, you'll know from the news whether I managed or not.

I miss you.

All my love,
David

[From 'May this be the last example': Documents from the Chicago Insurrection. Foote & Martinez, University of Hyde Park Press, 2017]
















And this is just for fun from a few weeks ago. When life was still fun.

I did not draw that picture.