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COVID39
Mark Millien
41 episodes
8 months ago
Randi confronts a stranger she knows. Cast Randi Halle Millien Shane Mark Millien Victor Coyotito Kelly / Mark Millien SFX and Music Contributors SFX Q Tone [Query] Tone 4.wav by patchen of freesound.org Q Tone [Response] Tone 3.wav by patchen of freesound.org Victor Drop thud2.wav by Topschool of freesound.org The L FOLEY - BODY FALL IMPACT.wav by cjosephwalker of freesound.org Music Marcus’ Letter Theme Twilight Zone by MelodicMoe of looperman.com Created by Mark and Halle Millien Cover Art by Halle Millien Written, Directed and Produced by Mark Millien Thank you to everyone that has supported us during this difficult time. Thank you to the protesters risking their bodies and health. Thank you to the medical professionals who are healing bodies or granting them peace. Thanks dad. To Mitch, who I originally wanted to for the role of Victor, I dedicate this to your wellness and freedom. Glossary ECCO: multinational corporation specializing in deep fake and catfish tech. modulator: a voice synthesizer that mimics real voices from high quality samples. #covid39 #covid19 #createathome #coronavirus #quarantine #rona #quarantinechronicles #covidchronicles #coronachronicles #quibi #generationc #flattenthecurve #stayathome #welcometowinnetkaheights #oakcliffdallas #atlanta #castleberyhill #theuninformedparent #covidpodcast #applepodcast #spotifypodcast #listen #scriptedpodcast #scifipodcast #scriptnotes #newpodcast #audiostories #amplifymelanatedvoices #amplifyblackvoices #shareblackstories #tiktok #dad Marcus’ Letter: When your folks sent out the email for this project I was like cool, I dig time capsules. But then I was like, shit, that means I gotta type an email. I know that I could’ve left a video or audio joint, but I felt like with everything going on, I wanted to type something that I could edit and get right. That I could look at and read through, and if I read it out loud it would’ve felt like a performance, and given the moment we’re living through, I wanted to do it justice. And so it took me awhile to get it together and send this out. Your dad’s are my oldest friends, so this is humbling, I take this very personally. You aren’t too young to understand what’s going on. You’re all smart kids. I think about y’all a lot, wondering what the world will be like when you’re my age. What you’ll remember about this time we’re all surviving. I know people who have lost someone recently. Some because of COVID, some just because they were unlucky enough to die during a pandemic. I’ve heard about the awkward Zoom ceremonies. Old people not knowing to mute their feed or unaware that any noise they make centers the video away from whomever is speaking. Rambling. And the typical inappropriate speeches that go on that seem more cringey because you’re wearing a bathrobe while giving it. Today was George Floyd’s memorial. Al Sharpton was there, of course. He beseeched those in earshot, America in this case, to get your knees off our necks. I wonder what America will do with that advice. She’s always been a stubborn kind of kid, convinced of her own nobility despite evidence to the contrary. They set bail for the officers, the other three that were there when Floyd died, at $750,000. Seems like a lot, but the police unions have fairly deep pockets. Police unions. Who knew there were ANY unions left with power, much less ones holding cities hostage. We’ve learned a lot about cops lately. We, US, we always knew but now everyone is getting glimpses. Like how often and to what degree the police will blatantly lie. There was this protester in Buffalo who the police pushed over as they went to close off the area. Pushed him to the ground and left him to spasm and bleed on the pavement. He was a 75 year old white man. They said he tripped and fell when there’s clear video evidence that he was pushed. White people are getting a front row seat to how they manipulate the narrative unfairly, triggering fresh distrust in communities with calcified police resentment. It’s also an opportunity for people with no interest in the truth to tell you how they really feel. It’s...so crazy. These people think we don’t like the police because they stop us from being the criminals we were born to be. Dogwhistles are gone. Now they just say it. Honestly, I’m thankful for it, because it reconciles so many things I never really understood before. How they absentmindedly strip us of our humanity. How the tears of white women super-cede the lives of black women. It’s because they really think we foster a culture of crime that comes to us naturally, genetically. Like we’re the human version of pit bulls, prone to aggression and a physiological yearning for rigid discipline. Some of them know the history and dismiss it. How cops were always the enforcers of legal inequalities. The word systemic scares them so much that they’ve forgotten that Jim Crow refers to a set of laws, not strongly held opinions or cultural norms. Forgotten is my way of being generous. Separate but equal was always a spoonful of sugar in a barrel of poison and they knew it then and they know it now. They’ve always been talented at telling digestible lies designed to hide inconvenient truths. We want to close abortion clinics to protect the health of women. We want to support ID and signature laws to protect the integrity of elections, even though there is zero evidence of widespread voter fraud. Climate change is a hoax. Dogmatic individualism, except when it comes to a woman’s body. Guns rights, unless the cold dead hands holding them are black or brown. And on and on and on. I wonder what stories the right wing will make up about this old man. His age won’t save him, not from their machine. There’s evidence that Travis McMichael, the white man that shot Ahmaud Arbery, called him a fucking nigger, as he lay there dying. Dying because Travis shot him. I wonder how long it will be before they stand before a judge, him, his father, and their neighbor, and claim that they aren’t guilty of anything, that they did nothing wrong and that he was armed with the concrete of the road, like Trayvon’s lawyer argured. Given the tumultuous times, the president decided he wasn’t safe enough behind the walls of the White House or the men and women of the Secret Service or his military attaches and what not, so he built a wall around it, the White House, so that the protesters can’t get him. I wonder if it’ll still be up as some kind of odd monument somewhere when you hear this. Tattooed in black lives matter iconography. I look around at a lot of things and wonder if they’ll be in a museum someday. So much about now seems destined for archives and study and discussion. How did we get here? Are these the last days of the last empire? Will we be mourned? What will be left for the meek to inherit? Ex soldiers are making their way into the protests, inciting violence, a group called Boogaloo. Semi-automatic rifles and Hawaiian shirts. The feds just charged three of them as conspirators to terrorism, while Rand Paul is holding up anti-lynching legislation in the Senate. Reporters are no longer safe. They’ve been shot, beaten, sprayed, arrested, and intimidated. International Journalistic integrity organizations have expressed concerns, like we’re Saudi Arabia or something. Newspapers are having their own reckoning with the moment, the movement. On Thursday the Philadelphia Inquirer ran a headline that said “Buildings Matter Too”. A couple dozen reporters called in sick. The New York Times published an op-ed written by Tom Cotton titled “Send in the Troops.” 800 staff members signed a letter in protest. No one is prepared for this. No one has the answers. Everyone is flailing, but we are still showing up. We are fighting. Right now it doesn’t feel like enough. How did they do it? Turn the other cheek? How did Dr. King have that kind of discipline for so long? But he was wrong about some things too, the preacher and the activist. At least, I don’t think it can work today. If you two are to inherit anything, my suggestion is, abandon meekness. These people are incapable of shame and there’s no longer any such thing as shared truth. The movement then was capable of persuading hearts and minds is dead. Don’t trust these allies, they are fairweather. Bored. Resentful of confinement. Trust yourselves, your family, and that America has not been subtle about her intentions.
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Drama
Fiction,
Science Fiction
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Randi confronts a stranger she knows. Cast Randi Halle Millien Shane Mark Millien Victor Coyotito Kelly / Mark Millien SFX and Music Contributors SFX Q Tone [Query] Tone 4.wav by patchen of freesound.org Q Tone [Response] Tone 3.wav by patchen of freesound.org Victor Drop thud2.wav by Topschool of freesound.org The L FOLEY - BODY FALL IMPACT.wav by cjosephwalker of freesound.org Music Marcus’ Letter Theme Twilight Zone by MelodicMoe of looperman.com Created by Mark and Halle Millien Cover Art by Halle Millien Written, Directed and Produced by Mark Millien Thank you to everyone that has supported us during this difficult time. Thank you to the protesters risking their bodies and health. Thank you to the medical professionals who are healing bodies or granting them peace. Thanks dad. To Mitch, who I originally wanted to for the role of Victor, I dedicate this to your wellness and freedom. Glossary ECCO: multinational corporation specializing in deep fake and catfish tech. modulator: a voice synthesizer that mimics real voices from high quality samples. #covid39 #covid19 #createathome #coronavirus #quarantine #rona #quarantinechronicles #covidchronicles #coronachronicles #quibi #generationc #flattenthecurve #stayathome #welcometowinnetkaheights #oakcliffdallas #atlanta #castleberyhill #theuninformedparent #covidpodcast #applepodcast #spotifypodcast #listen #scriptedpodcast #scifipodcast #scriptnotes #newpodcast #audiostories #amplifymelanatedvoices #amplifyblackvoices #shareblackstories #tiktok #dad Marcus’ Letter: When your folks sent out the email for this project I was like cool, I dig time capsules. But then I was like, shit, that means I gotta type an email. I know that I could’ve left a video or audio joint, but I felt like with everything going on, I wanted to type something that I could edit and get right. That I could look at and read through, and if I read it out loud it would’ve felt like a performance, and given the moment we’re living through, I wanted to do it justice. And so it took me awhile to get it together and send this out. Your dad’s are my oldest friends, so this is humbling, I take this very personally. You aren’t too young to understand what’s going on. You’re all smart kids. I think about y’all a lot, wondering what the world will be like when you’re my age. What you’ll remember about this time we’re all surviving. I know people who have lost someone recently. Some because of COVID, some just because they were unlucky enough to die during a pandemic. I’ve heard about the awkward Zoom ceremonies. Old people not knowing to mute their feed or unaware that any noise they make centers the video away from whomever is speaking. Rambling. And the typical inappropriate speeches that go on that seem more cringey because you’re wearing a bathrobe while giving it. Today was George Floyd’s memorial. Al Sharpton was there, of course. He beseeched those in earshot, America in this case, to get your knees off our necks. I wonder what America will do with that advice. She’s always been a stubborn kind of kid, convinced of her own nobility despite evidence to the contrary. They set bail for the officers, the other three that were there when Floyd died, at $750,000. Seems like a lot, but the police unions have fairly deep pockets. Police unions. Who knew there were ANY unions left with power, much less ones holding cities hostage. We’ve learned a lot about cops lately. We, US, we always knew but now everyone is getting glimpses. Like how often and to what degree the police will blatantly lie. There was this protester in Buffalo who the police pushed over as they went to close off the area. Pushed him to the ground and left him to spasm and bleed on the pavement. He was a 75 year old white man. They said he tripped and fell when there’s clear video evidence that he was pushed. White people are getting a front row seat to how they manipulate the narrative unfairly, triggering fresh distrust in communities with calcified police resentment. It’s also an opportunity for people with no interest in the truth to tell you how they really feel. It’s...so crazy. These people think we don’t like the police because they stop us from being the criminals we were born to be. Dogwhistles are gone. Now they just say it. Honestly, I’m thankful for it, because it reconciles so many things I never really understood before. How they absentmindedly strip us of our humanity. How the tears of white women super-cede the lives of black women. It’s because they really think we foster a culture of crime that comes to us naturally, genetically. Like we’re the human version of pit bulls, prone to aggression and a physiological yearning for rigid discipline. Some of them know the history and dismiss it. How cops were always the enforcers of legal inequalities. The word systemic scares them so much that they’ve forgotten that Jim Crow refers to a set of laws, not strongly held opinions or cultural norms. Forgotten is my way of being generous. Separate but equal was always a spoonful of sugar in a barrel of poison and they knew it then and they know it now. They’ve always been talented at telling digestible lies designed to hide inconvenient truths. We want to close abortion clinics to protect the health of women. We want to support ID and signature laws to protect the integrity of elections, even though there is zero evidence of widespread voter fraud. Climate change is a hoax. Dogmatic individualism, except when it comes to a woman’s body. Guns rights, unless the cold dead hands holding them are black or brown. And on and on and on. I wonder what stories the right wing will make up about this old man. His age won’t save him, not from their machine. There’s evidence that Travis McMichael, the white man that shot Ahmaud Arbery, called him a fucking nigger, as he lay there dying. Dying because Travis shot him. I wonder how long it will be before they stand before a judge, him, his father, and their neighbor, and claim that they aren’t guilty of anything, that they did nothing wrong and that he was armed with the concrete of the road, like Trayvon’s lawyer argured. Given the tumultuous times, the president decided he wasn’t safe enough behind the walls of the White House or the men and women of the Secret Service or his military attaches and what not, so he built a wall around it, the White House, so that the protesters can’t get him. I wonder if it’ll still be up as some kind of odd monument somewhere when you hear this. Tattooed in black lives matter iconography. I look around at a lot of things and wonder if they’ll be in a museum someday. So much about now seems destined for archives and study and discussion. How did we get here? Are these the last days of the last empire? Will we be mourned? What will be left for the meek to inherit? Ex soldiers are making their way into the protests, inciting violence, a group called Boogaloo. Semi-automatic rifles and Hawaiian shirts. The feds just charged three of them as conspirators to terrorism, while Rand Paul is holding up anti-lynching legislation in the Senate. Reporters are no longer safe. They’ve been shot, beaten, sprayed, arrested, and intimidated. International Journalistic integrity organizations have expressed concerns, like we’re Saudi Arabia or something. Newspapers are having their own reckoning with the moment, the movement. On Thursday the Philadelphia Inquirer ran a headline that said “Buildings Matter Too”. A couple dozen reporters called in sick. The New York Times published an op-ed written by Tom Cotton titled “Send in the Troops.” 800 staff members signed a letter in protest. No one is prepared for this. No one has the answers. Everyone is flailing, but we are still showing up. We are fighting. Right now it doesn’t feel like enough. How did they do it? Turn the other cheek? How did Dr. King have that kind of discipline for so long? But he was wrong about some things too, the preacher and the activist. At least, I don’t think it can work today. If you two are to inherit anything, my suggestion is, abandon meekness. These people are incapable of shame and there’s no longer any such thing as shared truth. The movement then was capable of persuading hearts and minds is dead. Don’t trust these allies, they are fairweather. Bored. Resentful of confinement. Trust yourselves, your family, and that America has not been subtle about her intentions.
Show more...
Drama
Fiction,
Science Fiction
Episodes (20/41)
COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 39
4 years ago
23 minutes 20 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 38
4 years ago
23 minutes 47 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 37
4 years ago
22 minutes 59 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 36
4 years ago
18 minutes 59 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 35
4 years ago
18 minutes 36 seconds

COVID39
Bonus Pod
4 years ago
4 minutes 51 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 34
Randi confronts a stranger she knows. Cast Randi Halle Millien Shane Mark Millien Victor Coyotito Kelly / Mark Millien SFX and Music Contributors SFX Q Tone [Query] Tone 4.wav by patchen of freesound.org Q Tone [Response] Tone 3.wav by patchen of freesound.org Victor Drop thud2.wav by Topschool of freesound.org The L FOLEY - BODY FALL IMPACT.wav by cjosephwalker of freesound.org Music Marcus’ Letter Theme Twilight Zone by MelodicMoe of looperman.com Created by Mark and Halle Millien Cover Art by Halle Millien Written, Directed and Produced by Mark Millien Thank you to everyone that has supported us during this difficult time. Thank you to the protesters risking their bodies and health. Thank you to the medical professionals who are healing bodies or granting them peace. Thanks dad. To Mitch, who I originally wanted to for the role of Victor, I dedicate this to your wellness and freedom. Glossary ECCO: multinational corporation specializing in deep fake and catfish tech. modulator: a voice synthesizer that mimics real voices from high quality samples. #covid39 #covid19 #createathome #coronavirus #quarantine #rona #quarantinechronicles #covidchronicles #coronachronicles #quibi #generationc #flattenthecurve #stayathome #welcometowinnetkaheights #oakcliffdallas #atlanta #castleberyhill #theuninformedparent #covidpodcast #applepodcast #spotifypodcast #listen #scriptedpodcast #scifipodcast #scriptnotes #newpodcast #audiostories #amplifymelanatedvoices #amplifyblackvoices #shareblackstories #tiktok #dad Marcus’ Letter: When your folks sent out the email for this project I was like cool, I dig time capsules. But then I was like, shit, that means I gotta type an email. I know that I could’ve left a video or audio joint, but I felt like with everything going on, I wanted to type something that I could edit and get right. That I could look at and read through, and if I read it out loud it would’ve felt like a performance, and given the moment we’re living through, I wanted to do it justice. And so it took me awhile to get it together and send this out. Your dad’s are my oldest friends, so this is humbling, I take this very personally. You aren’t too young to understand what’s going on. You’re all smart kids. I think about y’all a lot, wondering what the world will be like when you’re my age. What you’ll remember about this time we’re all surviving. I know people who have lost someone recently. Some because of COVID, some just because they were unlucky enough to die during a pandemic. I’ve heard about the awkward Zoom ceremonies. Old people not knowing to mute their feed or unaware that any noise they make centers the video away from whomever is speaking. Rambling. And the typical inappropriate speeches that go on that seem more cringey because you’re wearing a bathrobe while giving it. Today was George Floyd’s memorial. Al Sharpton was there, of course. He beseeched those in earshot, America in this case, to get your knees off our necks. I wonder what America will do with that advice. She’s always been a stubborn kind of kid, convinced of her own nobility despite evidence to the contrary. They set bail for the officers, the other three that were there when Floyd died, at $750,000. Seems like a lot, but the police unions have fairly deep pockets. Police unions. Who knew there were ANY unions left with power, much less ones holding cities hostage. We’ve learned a lot about cops lately. We, US, we always knew but now everyone is getting glimpses. Like how often and to what degree the police will blatantly lie. There was this protester in Buffalo who the police pushed over as they went to close off the area. Pushed him to the ground and left him to spasm and bleed on the pavement. He was a 75 year old white man. They said he tripped and fell when there’s clear video evidence that he was pushed. White people are getting a front row seat to how they manipulate the narrative unfairly, triggering fresh distrust in communities with calcified police resentment. It’s also an opportunity for people with no interest in the truth to tell you how they really feel. It’s...so crazy. These people think we don’t like the police because they stop us from being the criminals we were born to be. Dogwhistles are gone. Now they just say it. Honestly, I’m thankful for it, because it reconciles so many things I never really understood before. How they absentmindedly strip us of our humanity. How the tears of white women super-cede the lives of black women. It’s because they really think we foster a culture of crime that comes to us naturally, genetically. Like we’re the human version of pit bulls, prone to aggression and a physiological yearning for rigid discipline. Some of them know the history and dismiss it. How cops were always the enforcers of legal inequalities. The word systemic scares them so much that they’ve forgotten that Jim Crow refers to a set of laws, not strongly held opinions or cultural norms. Forgotten is my way of being generous. Separate but equal was always a spoonful of sugar in a barrel of poison and they knew it then and they know it now. They’ve always been talented at telling digestible lies designed to hide inconvenient truths. We want to close abortion clinics to protect the health of women. We want to support ID and signature laws to protect the integrity of elections, even though there is zero evidence of widespread voter fraud. Climate change is a hoax. Dogmatic individualism, except when it comes to a woman’s body. Guns rights, unless the cold dead hands holding them are black or brown. And on and on and on. I wonder what stories the right wing will make up about this old man. His age won’t save him, not from their machine. There’s evidence that Travis McMichael, the white man that shot Ahmaud Arbery, called him a fucking nigger, as he lay there dying. Dying because Travis shot him. I wonder how long it will be before they stand before a judge, him, his father, and their neighbor, and claim that they aren’t guilty of anything, that they did nothing wrong and that he was armed with the concrete of the road, like Trayvon’s lawyer argured. Given the tumultuous times, the president decided he wasn’t safe enough behind the walls of the White House or the men and women of the Secret Service or his military attaches and what not, so he built a wall around it, the White House, so that the protesters can’t get him. I wonder if it’ll still be up as some kind of odd monument somewhere when you hear this. Tattooed in black lives matter iconography. I look around at a lot of things and wonder if they’ll be in a museum someday. So much about now seems destined for archives and study and discussion. How did we get here? Are these the last days of the last empire? Will we be mourned? What will be left for the meek to inherit? Ex soldiers are making their way into the protests, inciting violence, a group called Boogaloo. Semi-automatic rifles and Hawaiian shirts. The feds just charged three of them as conspirators to terrorism, while Rand Paul is holding up anti-lynching legislation in the Senate. Reporters are no longer safe. They’ve been shot, beaten, sprayed, arrested, and intimidated. International Journalistic integrity organizations have expressed concerns, like we’re Saudi Arabia or something. Newspapers are having their own reckoning with the moment, the movement. On Thursday the Philadelphia Inquirer ran a headline that said “Buildings Matter Too”. A couple dozen reporters called in sick. The New York Times published an op-ed written by Tom Cotton titled “Send in the Troops.” 800 staff members signed a letter in protest. No one is prepared for this. No one has the answers. Everyone is flailing, but we are still showing up. We are fighting. Right now it doesn’t feel like enough. How did they do it? Turn the other cheek? How did Dr. King have that kind of discipline for so long? But he was wrong about some things too, the preacher and the activist. At least, I don’t think it can work today. If you two are to inherit anything, my suggestion is, abandon meekness. These people are incapable of shame and there’s no longer any such thing as shared truth. The movement then was capable of persuading hearts and minds is dead. Don’t trust these allies, they are fairweather. Bored. Resentful of confinement. Trust yourselves, your family, and that America has not been subtle about her intentions.
Show more...
5 years ago
14 minutes

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 33
Shane begins to trusts Randi’s inexplicable instincts. Sean Monterrosa James Scurlock David McAtee Breonna Taylor Dallas Protests June 2, 2020 Weathering Cast Randi Halle Millien Shane Mark Millien Mara La SFX and Music Contributors SFX Q Tone [Query] Tone 4.wav by patchen of freesound.org Q Tone [Response] Tone 3.wav by patchen of freesound.org Gunshot Heathers Gunshot Effect2.wav by okieactor of freesound.org Music Mara’s Letter Theme My Heart Sets In The West by Planetjazzbass of looperman.com Created by Mark and Halle Millien Cover Art by Halle Millien Written, Directed and Produced by Mark Millien Thank you to everyone that has supported us during this difficult time. Thank you to the protesters risking their bodies and health. Thank you to the medical professionals who are healing bodies or granting them peace. Thanks dad. Dedicated to my brother Mitchel and the future of our family. Mara’s Letter: I’ve had a hard time figuring out what I am supposed to be doing right now. People are feeling “called” to things, to do things in this moment. To show up. “Where and when” is how you’re supposed to respond. “Sign me up.”  Less than that, and you’re not sufficiently woke. And people tend to react strongly to accusations of being complicit to the institutions of white supremacy. Your father, he doesn’t think I react strongly to anything. He’s out now. At a protest. They’ve made their way over the bridge, apparently, complying with the downtown curfew.  Like everything else in this city, even the agitators are milquetoast. The crowds at the White House yesterday were gassed, right next to the famous church at Lafayette Park. One minute he’s in the Rose Garden giving a speech, evading questions, or answering them in the most selfishly convoluted ways possible. You could hear it like ambient noise as the backdrop to his rhetoric, people screaming and unnamed soldiers pressing. He called them terrorists. He said that he would call in the military if governors didn’t have the stomach to declare war on their citizens.  Then he left the dais and strolled across the park, to take a picture with a bible, one he couldn’t claim as his own, and held it up like a hostage with a proof of life document, while the cameras clicked. Afterward, the Arlington police chief removed his detachment, seemingly disgusted that they’d been used to remove the protestors so that the Commander in Chief could dip his toe in militant evangelical propaganda. I’m trying to keep a grip on all the loose threads that keep slipping from my fingers and somehow I’m not doing enough, but I am exhausted. Everyday. By the time I’ve made dinner or cleaned up dinner or wrangled the mulish children towards their bedtime rituals, after a day of redundant meetings, hosted by an employer that is laying off people every few weeks, cutting the pay of those they decide to keep, and trying to solve EVERYTHING for everyone, I have nothing left. Nothing. I’m angry that I feel guilty. I’m hurt that I feel lazy. I’m frustrated that I feel frustrated. I’m anxious that I’m excited by nothing. This carousel is killing me. It’s just too much. Should I be reading more or less? Should I be speaking up at my job that is making expendable decisions or applaud any minimal effort they muster In Black life appeasement? I can’t organize a virtual walkout! I don’t work at Facebook! Am I supposed to memorize all the names? Breonna Taylor’s killers still haven’t been arrested. Sean Monterrosa is a new one. A peaceful protester who put his hands up and kneeled right before a police officer shot him five times through the windshield of his unmarked car, because of the gun he saw in his pant’s pocket that turned out to be a hammer. I should have a better handle on this, three months in. I should have adapted to this new shitty normal. I should be sponsoring teachers or composing the new black anthem or finding a cure to common idiocy. I should be finding inspiration in the “movement”. But I’m not. I don’t. It’s been a week since the protests started. The EU has weighed in, calling out American cops for appalling abuses of power. The world is watching and they’re siding with us, but you think that’s stopped them? Twenty-three states have called in the National Guard, thousands have been arrested, and they keep beating us, maiming us, killing us, while the world is watching. And not just us. Old. Young. Black. White. Asian. But mostly poor. There are wildfires in Siberia. Right now. It’s 20 degrees hotter there than on average. Siberia. We are broke. We have no savings. Where would I find another job, in this climate? Where is my hope supposed to come from? What I won’t do is put that on you two. You are coming of age in all of this. You’ll grow up suspicious of the air you breathe and the company it keeps. A white supremacist, more obvious than most, sits in the White House. I’m supposed to look to our children to save us? Am I wrong to feel like we don’t deserve to be saved? That we owed you more than this? The marching has lasted longer than I thought it would this time, I don’t know what makes it different, but am I supposed to think it will last or that it will change anything? Why am I not enough? To provide for our family? To teach you? To raise you in strength? To keep you safe? The maternal mortality rate in America is absurdly high for a first world country. Most of it is due to the rate of death from black women who are pregnant. All of the research suggests that it is not physiological or economic or any of the natural drivers of illness and susceptibility. The research indicates that it is prolonged exposure to racism. That it eats away at the core of you, forcing your body to make a choice. You, or the baby, and so many of the mothers die. A woman asked me yesterday at the store, how I was doing. I think I was supposed to know her. This white woman standing too close, eyes anchored with concern over the brim of her star-spangled mask. I think we’ve met. She seemed so genuine. I told her I was weathered. That’s the term for it. The accumulated abuse of macro and microaggressions. Weathered. She had no idea what I meant but she wanted to help me, she asked me what she could do, she was so desperate to fix it. I showed her a picture of you two, along with Randi and Harrison, on my phone from just a few days ago running inside from the backyard as the sky opened wide and an avalanche of rain funneled from bright clouds. I told her “Love them when I’m gone. I’m always gone.” I don’t know why I said that. Still. I’m not going anywhere. I couldn’t if I wanted to and there isn’t anywhere I’d rather be, but I meant it. Somehow. And she heard me. No one cries that hard unless they’re really listening. #covid39 #covid19 #createathome #coronavirus #quarantine #rona #quarantinechronicles #covidchronicles #coronachronicles #quibi #generationc #flattenthecurve #stayathome #welcometowinnetkaheights #oakcliffdallas #atlanta #castleberyhill #theuninformedparent #covidpodcast #applepodcast #spotifypodcast #listen #scriptedpodcast #scifipodcast #scriptnotes #newpodcast #audiostories #blackaudiodrama #afrofuturism #amplifymelanatedvoices #amplifyblackvoices #shareblackstories #tiktok #seanmonterrosa #jamesscurlock #davidmcatee #breonnataylor #dad
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5 years ago
14 minutes 4 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 32
Randi and Shane disagree about next moves as they deal with the consequences of Roderick’s letter. Cast Randi Halle Millien Shane Mark Millien Helen Philips Ko Forte Sonubi SFX and Music Contributors SFX Q Tone [Query] Tone 4.wav by patchen of freesound.org Q Tone [Response] Tone 3.wav by patchen of freesound.org Sirens Futuristic_Alarm4.mp3 by 13NHarri  Emergency_Traffic-1.mp3 by 911elearning   Siren by maycuddlepie  Music Helen’s Letter Theme Trap Ballad Piano Lead Hook 128 by stalebrick of looperman.com Created by Mark and Halle Millien Cover Art by Halle Millien Written, Directed and Produced by Mark Millien Thank you to everyone that has supported us during this difficult time. Thank you to the protesters risking their bodies and health. Thank you to the medical professionals who are healing bodies or granting them peace. Thanks dad. Love you Mitch. Glossary allocated: an arrest that exists outside of the framework of the legal system for individuals considered to be too dangerous to place in common detention frameworks, usually due to their haz status. retro-tagged: the pejorative term for someone being assigned a lower haz status and corresponding haztag for fraudulent reasons. Many citizens consider this to be an unsubstantiated claim akin to how systemic racism was argued about in years past. Helen’s Letter: "But if the unbelieving partner separates, let it be so. In such cases, the brother or sister is not enslaved. God has called you to peace." First Corinthians chapter 7 verse 15. That sounded to me like absolution. Not that I needed any. My children. My babies. I substitute no one’s judgment for my own in pursuing your survival. Not your father’s. Not his surrogate’s. Not God’s. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that when I read that I felt unburdened by some of the tougher decisions I’ve made and the consequences that will come from them. Roderick is a good man but he is lying. To us. To himself. And I understand that. Selfishness sometimes requires a bit of self-deception. When I was a child, there was this commercial, I don’t remember what they were selling, but Kelly Lebrock was in it. For a fleeting tick of time, she was the most sought after woman on Earth. The only thing I remember about it was the line “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful”. I’d never imagined anyone could stand so casually proud in their own skin, even if it was flawless. You could tell that she believed, KNEW, she was different, better, and made no apologies for it. An angel asking the mob for grace. I knew I was pretty as a child. It was obvious. I was 15 when I realized that I was beautiful. Happily, I can say that it didn’t come from any man’s validation. One day I simply became acutely aware of the shape of me, the songs written in the notes of my features. It gave me a voice, especially when I was silent. The space between mysterious and withdrawn is separated by beauty. At times it has allowed me to escape deeper scrutiny while remaining in the spotlight. There have been times in my life when I could shed the disadvantages charred into my syrupy skin and walk among the free folk as an honored guest. It’s never been a source of guilt. If I had been born porcelain and ivory with a mastodon’s strength, I’d persuade with menace. Instead, I was born molten honey and aromatic cocoa so I negotiate my existence through sweet intoxicants. At birth, none of us are armored or clawed and what we do not learn will surely kill us because unlike other animals we must be taught survival. My first lesson was the police. My mother’s beauty was a curse. It brought her too much attention in her time, in that place.  She told me that people with small power will always use it to remind you of how small YOU are, if only to distort the size of their reflection. She taught me to run. To apologize. To bow. And to pray. When I came into my voice, I left all her lessons behind. That husk no longer suited me. Everything she taught me played to my weaknesses and not my strengths. It wasn’t her fault. You can only teach what you know, and she knew nothing else. I look at you, my two children, and have decided what will be your armor and what will be your claws. Neither of you are, or ever will be, beautiful. Not in a way that will matter. And it is an imperfect set of tools with little room for error. If I had a choice, I would have made a different one. Harrison. You are precious. Funny. The stories you read are relentlessly optimistic, promising happy endings, defeated monsters, and cheaply bought adoration. They speak to you. It would be counter to your nature to rehabilitate you to a world where your brothers are being hunted, where the monsters wear tin stars, where your naiveté is a rope they will string you from. A black man was murdered for the world to see, a blue demon smugly kneeled on his windpipe until he was beyond stillness, and today, four days later he was arrested. Jesus rose from the dead in three. And yet, we the hungry, so starved for justice, swallowed THIS as a wonder. So your claws, my featherless son, will be forged from miracles. No reason to reinvent the wheel when there are miles and miles of track already laid. You are sincere. You are just. And you are susceptible. They will believe you.  Thousands of years of well tested lies will serve you just as it has served all of the prophets that have come before you. A procession of sincere and just fairytale fed innocents, or better, ruthless opportunists. You may never mature into the latter, but you can become the best version of the former. And you will live. Randi. You see everything. Every detail. Every gap. You reason your way to the end of every maze unaware that there were traps and tricks laid, not because you could not see them, but because they were prepared by such clumsy hands you assume it was part of the game to sidestep them. It sets you apart and invites loneliness. So. Your armor will grow from your spine, like the tortoise. Your father left you to fight his noble crusades. I have left you to prove that you do not need me. You do not need anyone. I am playing to your strengths. Breonna Taylor’s murderers walk free! No one has been arrested. No one has been accused. No one has been fired. No one has done anything wrong. As a black woman, you will always matter less. As a black woman, you must prepare for solitude and abandonment. Relying on yourself is your greatest gift so I have accelerated it so that you may become not only proficient in its use but prodigious. Your mind is a blade and it must stay keen my daughter. The fool in the White House said just yesterday that when the looting starts the shooting starts. It’s hunting season and everyone gets a license, an orange vest, and the blessings of his evangelical purists. No one will question. The bodies can be hidden among the diseased dead. But YOU will live. You will live. Mr. Ko could see it. He was right, about so many things. About your father leaving. About the protests. More. None of this was his fault. I do not know what his plans for you are. He wouldn’t tell me. He said he couldn’t and still have them come true. But he has plans. And I believe them. He told me what the choices were, but they were my choices. Mine. I am no pawn. I am a queen. And a queen makes sacrifices.  #covid39 #covid19 #createathome #coronavirus #quarantine #rona #quarantinechronicles #covidchronicles #coronachronicles #quibi #generationc #flattenthecurve #stayathome #welcometowinnetkaheights #oakcliffdallas #atlanta #castleberyhill #theuninformedparent #covidpodcast #applepodcast #spotifypodcast #listen #scriptedpodcast #scifipodcast #scriptnotes #newpodcast #audiostories #amplifymelanatedvoices #amplifyblackvoices #shareblackstories #tiktok #blackaudiodrama #afrofuturism #dad
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5 years ago
16 minutes 54 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 31
Roderick’s second letter has equally devastating results. Cast Randi Halle Millien Shane Mark Millien Roderick Brian Ashton Smith SFX and Music Contributors SFX Q Tone [Query] Tone 4.wav by patchen of freesound.org Q Tone [Response] Tone 3.wav by patchen of freesound.org Hospital Sounds MICU beeps_MaryWashingtonHospital_Oct2011.aif by jgeralyn of freesound.org Music Roderick’s Letter Theme One and Only Choir from Apple Loops in Garageband Created by Mark and Halle Millien Cover Art by Halle Millien Written, Directed and Produced by Mark Millien Thank you to everyone that has supported us during this difficult time. Thank you to the protesters risking their bodies and health. Thank you to the medical professionals who are healing bodies or granting them peace. Thank you to CBR. Thanks dad. Love you Mitch. Glossary cleanse: a MIC raid into orange slums meant to display vigilance against outbreaks but considered extrajudicial and illegal for years, but they have been tied up in the courts. comm-chain: a pirated network on the Q that allows multiple users to share the same node band, used mostly by the poor to gain Q access. Legal chained networks are expensive. tracer barbs: a tactical grenade that discharges hooked razor shrapnel embedded with micro locator buoys. They can be painful and difficult to remove often burrowing beneath the skin. Roderick’s Letter: I’m in the hospital. I’m sick. My first symptoms started four days ago. Over the weekend. Memorial Day weekend. I told you…I told you I’d be home. Flight 1984 out of Laguardia. I was in seat 33C, my reservation number was WUBVSP. Number, it’s all letters, I didn’t realize that til just now. We got diverted to Houston. They didn’t tell us why at the time. I was listening to a podcast so I didn’t hear him at first, the flight attendant. Coughing. Struggling for breath. It was like I’d been transported back into the triage tents. I didn’t even realize I’d unclipped my belt. I just wanted to help him. I held him while people screamed, backed away, or prayed. He didn’t make it off the plane. They quarantined the entire flight while tests came back. My throat wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t right, so I chalked it up to psychosomatic influences. I wasn’t worried. I just wanted to be sure that I could look your mother in the eye and tell her that everything was fine. That I’d kept my promise. I’m tested pretty regularly, so…I wasn’t worried. I didn’t panic. I just waited in a dingy motel a measly 222 miles away from you. I had been so ready to leave New York and all of its vast empty and here I was, at the finish line, til someone pulled us off the track. I was scrolling through pictures of you two when, when I got the call. I asked a lot of questions. I know all the protocols by rote but I still had so many questions. God. Uh, so, that was, Saturday. Saturday. They are going to keep me for a few more days. I haven’t improved. In fact, things have gotten a little worse. I’m in bed right now laying next to a ventilator draped in plastic. There are suction tubes and monitors and, you can probably hear the beeping, the oxygen tanks. Constant wheezing of machines. The staff knows they can’t lie to me or stall me with jargon but they try out of habit and apologize when they see me see them. Even behind masks, I can read their faces. I’m recording this on my phone. I’m not supposed to have it but…I can see why they take it from you. Germs and anxiety bound like mortar and cement encased in plastic and glass. A man named George Floyd died today. Wait, that’s not right, he died Monday, he was murdered on Monday. But the video became viral on Tuesday and the headlines caught up today, Wednesday. His name, the man the cops killed, his name was George Floyd. By the time you hear this his name will be lost like all the rest, sunken treasure buried under tons and tons of cold indifferent waves. There were four cops and a crowd of onlookers. One of the cops, THE cop, had George Floyd on the ground handcuffed and leaned into his neck with his knee, casually, for nine minutes. That’s wrong. It wasn’t casual. It was defiant. The people pleaded with him. George Floyd said he couldn’t breathe. Over and over again. Before he died, he called out for his mother. He told everyone there that he was going to die. HIs mother is dead. I, I didn’t know that before, I just read that. Fuck. And this cop, with his hands in his pockets, a smirk on his face, he dared anyone to do anything. Dared anyone to care. He knew that there would be no real consequences. He was sharing his impunity with the world and he knew they wouldn’t give a shit. They all eat from the same trough and its brimming with our meat and bones. Most white people aren’t even aware that they see us as no more than animals but can’t explain why seeing us slaughtered doesn’t move them the way a mutilated dog might on the highway between where they’re going and where they’ve been. No one will remember my name. I will live on in you, my children, but I will die more as a statistic than a man. I told you before that I regretted coming here. That’s not true, I just wish I did. I helped people here, people who really needed it, who would’ve died if it hadn’t been for me. Maybe one of their names will live on and I can share a scrap of their immortality. It’s enough that they will go home to their families. I didn’t intend to sacrifice mine for theirs. The flight attendant, his name was George Adiacco. He grew up in New York all his life. Used to be a police captain. Retired and decided to practice his comedy routine on domestic flights during landings and takeoffs. He was loved. I just wouldn’t have been worthy of you if I had done nothing. But now, I wish so much that nothing was exactly what I’d done. #covid39 #covid19 #createathome #coronavirus #quarantine #rona #quarantinechronicles #covidchronicles #coronachronicles #quibi #generationc #flattenthecurve #stayathome #welcometowinnetkaheights #oakcliffdallas #atlanta #castleberyhill #theuninformedparent #covidpodcast #applepodcast #spotifypodcast #listen #scriptedpodcast #scifipodcast #scriptnotes #newpodcast #audiostories #amplifymelanatedvoices #amplifyblackvoices #shareblackstories #tiktok #blackaudiodrama #afrofuturism #dad
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5 years ago
18 minutes 8 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 30
5 years ago
10 minutes 58 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 29
5 years ago
13 minutes 51 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 28
5 years ago
8 minutes 46 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 27
5 years ago
13 minutes 21 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 26
5 years ago
13 minutes 12 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 25
5 years ago
9 minutes 44 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 24
5 years ago
12 minutes 35 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 23
5 years ago
11 minutes 46 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: Chapter 22
5 years ago
9 minutes 59 seconds

COVID39
COVID39: BONUS
5 years ago
2 minutes 60 seconds

COVID39
Randi confronts a stranger she knows. Cast Randi Halle Millien Shane Mark Millien Victor Coyotito Kelly / Mark Millien SFX and Music Contributors SFX Q Tone [Query] Tone 4.wav by patchen of freesound.org Q Tone [Response] Tone 3.wav by patchen of freesound.org Victor Drop thud2.wav by Topschool of freesound.org The L FOLEY - BODY FALL IMPACT.wav by cjosephwalker of freesound.org Music Marcus’ Letter Theme Twilight Zone by MelodicMoe of looperman.com Created by Mark and Halle Millien Cover Art by Halle Millien Written, Directed and Produced by Mark Millien Thank you to everyone that has supported us during this difficult time. Thank you to the protesters risking their bodies and health. Thank you to the medical professionals who are healing bodies or granting them peace. Thanks dad. To Mitch, who I originally wanted to for the role of Victor, I dedicate this to your wellness and freedom. Glossary ECCO: multinational corporation specializing in deep fake and catfish tech. modulator: a voice synthesizer that mimics real voices from high quality samples. #covid39 #covid19 #createathome #coronavirus #quarantine #rona #quarantinechronicles #covidchronicles #coronachronicles #quibi #generationc #flattenthecurve #stayathome #welcometowinnetkaheights #oakcliffdallas #atlanta #castleberyhill #theuninformedparent #covidpodcast #applepodcast #spotifypodcast #listen #scriptedpodcast #scifipodcast #scriptnotes #newpodcast #audiostories #amplifymelanatedvoices #amplifyblackvoices #shareblackstories #tiktok #dad Marcus’ Letter: When your folks sent out the email for this project I was like cool, I dig time capsules. But then I was like, shit, that means I gotta type an email. I know that I could’ve left a video or audio joint, but I felt like with everything going on, I wanted to type something that I could edit and get right. That I could look at and read through, and if I read it out loud it would’ve felt like a performance, and given the moment we’re living through, I wanted to do it justice. And so it took me awhile to get it together and send this out. Your dad’s are my oldest friends, so this is humbling, I take this very personally. You aren’t too young to understand what’s going on. You’re all smart kids. I think about y’all a lot, wondering what the world will be like when you’re my age. What you’ll remember about this time we’re all surviving. I know people who have lost someone recently. Some because of COVID, some just because they were unlucky enough to die during a pandemic. I’ve heard about the awkward Zoom ceremonies. Old people not knowing to mute their feed or unaware that any noise they make centers the video away from whomever is speaking. Rambling. And the typical inappropriate speeches that go on that seem more cringey because you’re wearing a bathrobe while giving it. Today was George Floyd’s memorial. Al Sharpton was there, of course. He beseeched those in earshot, America in this case, to get your knees off our necks. I wonder what America will do with that advice. She’s always been a stubborn kind of kid, convinced of her own nobility despite evidence to the contrary. They set bail for the officers, the other three that were there when Floyd died, at $750,000. Seems like a lot, but the police unions have fairly deep pockets. Police unions. Who knew there were ANY unions left with power, much less ones holding cities hostage. We’ve learned a lot about cops lately. We, US, we always knew but now everyone is getting glimpses. Like how often and to what degree the police will blatantly lie. There was this protester in Buffalo who the police pushed over as they went to close off the area. Pushed him to the ground and left him to spasm and bleed on the pavement. He was a 75 year old white man. They said he tripped and fell when there’s clear video evidence that he was pushed. White people are getting a front row seat to how they manipulate the narrative unfairly, triggering fresh distrust in communities with calcified police resentment. It’s also an opportunity for people with no interest in the truth to tell you how they really feel. It’s...so crazy. These people think we don’t like the police because they stop us from being the criminals we were born to be. Dogwhistles are gone. Now they just say it. Honestly, I’m thankful for it, because it reconciles so many things I never really understood before. How they absentmindedly strip us of our humanity. How the tears of white women super-cede the lives of black women. It’s because they really think we foster a culture of crime that comes to us naturally, genetically. Like we’re the human version of pit bulls, prone to aggression and a physiological yearning for rigid discipline. Some of them know the history and dismiss it. How cops were always the enforcers of legal inequalities. The word systemic scares them so much that they’ve forgotten that Jim Crow refers to a set of laws, not strongly held opinions or cultural norms. Forgotten is my way of being generous. Separate but equal was always a spoonful of sugar in a barrel of poison and they knew it then and they know it now. They’ve always been talented at telling digestible lies designed to hide inconvenient truths. We want to close abortion clinics to protect the health of women. We want to support ID and signature laws to protect the integrity of elections, even though there is zero evidence of widespread voter fraud. Climate change is a hoax. Dogmatic individualism, except when it comes to a woman’s body. Guns rights, unless the cold dead hands holding them are black or brown. And on and on and on. I wonder what stories the right wing will make up about this old man. His age won’t save him, not from their machine. There’s evidence that Travis McMichael, the white man that shot Ahmaud Arbery, called him a fucking nigger, as he lay there dying. Dying because Travis shot him. I wonder how long it will be before they stand before a judge, him, his father, and their neighbor, and claim that they aren’t guilty of anything, that they did nothing wrong and that he was armed with the concrete of the road, like Trayvon’s lawyer argured. Given the tumultuous times, the president decided he wasn’t safe enough behind the walls of the White House or the men and women of the Secret Service or his military attaches and what not, so he built a wall around it, the White House, so that the protesters can’t get him. I wonder if it’ll still be up as some kind of odd monument somewhere when you hear this. Tattooed in black lives matter iconography. I look around at a lot of things and wonder if they’ll be in a museum someday. So much about now seems destined for archives and study and discussion. How did we get here? Are these the last days of the last empire? Will we be mourned? What will be left for the meek to inherit? Ex soldiers are making their way into the protests, inciting violence, a group called Boogaloo. Semi-automatic rifles and Hawaiian shirts. The feds just charged three of them as conspirators to terrorism, while Rand Paul is holding up anti-lynching legislation in the Senate. Reporters are no longer safe. They’ve been shot, beaten, sprayed, arrested, and intimidated. International Journalistic integrity organizations have expressed concerns, like we’re Saudi Arabia or something. Newspapers are having their own reckoning with the moment, the movement. On Thursday the Philadelphia Inquirer ran a headline that said “Buildings Matter Too”. A couple dozen reporters called in sick. The New York Times published an op-ed written by Tom Cotton titled “Send in the Troops.” 800 staff members signed a letter in protest. No one is prepared for this. No one has the answers. Everyone is flailing, but we are still showing up. We are fighting. Right now it doesn’t feel like enough. How did they do it? Turn the other cheek? How did Dr. King have that kind of discipline for so long? But he was wrong about some things too, the preacher and the activist. At least, I don’t think it can work today. If you two are to inherit anything, my suggestion is, abandon meekness. These people are incapable of shame and there’s no longer any such thing as shared truth. The movement then was capable of persuading hearts and minds is dead. Don’t trust these allies, they are fairweather. Bored. Resentful of confinement. Trust yourselves, your family, and that America has not been subtle about her intentions.