A dull grey Monday here in Ohio, thirty-eight degrees with a sky like a stone. The first vaccinations were administered today as the American death toll crept past 300,000. In Taiwan, seven people have died from the virus this year.

Images of health workers rolling up their sleeves for injections were intercut with live-feeds of masked officials sitting six feet apart in legislative buildings across the country as they cast their electoral votes for president. This process is a vestigial relic of our creaky democracy, a perfunctory duty that usually occurs without comment. This year, however, some state officials faced “credible threats of violence” from the president’s supporters. They had police escorts and met in secret rooms. Is this a blip, the last gasp of a cult, or is this a harbinger of America’s future, a society where every governmental function, no matter how mundane, is met with denial or a threat?

Thankfully, there were no surprises; nobody caved to the president’s demands. I’m reappreciating the joy of mundane events this year, the delight in everything happening as expected.

Tropic of Cancer – The Dull Age

The End of All Things | Downwards, 2012 | Boomkat