Chuck Hogan The Blood Artists

For J.A.H., a survivor.

“We would like to go into the true reasons that brought you here—” he began, but she interrupted.

“I am here as a symbol of something. I thought perhaps you would know what it was.”

“You are sick,” he said mechanically.

“Then what was it I had almost found?”

“A greater sickness.”

— F. SCOTT FITZGERALD,

Tender Is the Night

The desire for possession is insatiable, to such a point that it can survive even love itself. To love, therefore, is to sterilize the person one loves.

— ALBERT CAMUS,

The Rebel

A virus is a bit of genetic

acid wrapped in protein.

It is neither alive nor dead.

It is small, smaller than bacteria,

many times smaller than any animal cell.


A virus has no energy of its own.

It cannot reproduce.

A virus without a living cell to plunder is helpless and inert.

It must steal life by slipping into a congenial cell

and tricking it into replicating viruses.

This is the act of infection.


A virus does not want to kill.

It does not even want to harm.

It wants to change.

It wants that part of it that is missing.

It wants to become.

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