Hello darkness, my old friend

I've come to talk with you again

Because a vision softly creeping

Left its seeds while I was sleeping

And the vision that was planted in my brain

Still remains

Within the sound of silence

I’m sure Paul Simon had ample reason for his angst back when he wrote those words in 1964.

Fifty-six years later, darkness is descending quickly on America. Very quickly. And with far, far darker days almost certainly ahead, and what I fear will be, in our hibernating social distance, an enveloping silence.

It is Friday the 13th as I write this.

It was only a week ago that Austin canceled South by Southwest. It was devastating news for the city, for all the artists and creatives, the bartenders, bouncers and waitstaff and countless others, and for live music in its capital.

It was also a shock to the system.

But in the week since, Broadway has gone dark.

So too Disneyland and Disney World.

The NBA season is suspended.

Major league baseball’s spring training has been canceled and opening day delayed.

Spring break is broken. Schools are closing. College campuses are becoming arid spaces for virtual learning.

The stock market is in free fall. An economic crash appears inevitable.

Normal life is soon to be in shambles.

Our reality TV president who owed his gravitas, such as it is, to the role he played on "The Apprentice," is now presiding over "Survivor." Which septuagenarian will outlast a plague that appears hellbent on reducing Social Security costs in the most brutal way possible to preside over our apocalypse?

It would not seem to bode well for Trump. But who knows? He does appear to be a survivor.

The germophobe in chief has shaken hands in recent days with a veritable receiving line of those incubating the infection. But on he goes. Maybe the coronavirus is Trump-averse.

The presidential nominating process has, for all practical purposes, run its course.

There almost certainly won’t be in-person political conventions, and if there were, they’d be pandemic fiascos.

Mass rallies are oxygen for the president, who must now forgo them or demand the faithful share that oxygen with perhaps fateful consequences.

Greatness can manifest itself in times like these.

But if Trump, who wakes each morning tweeting blame, prevails, it will more likely be because he has vanquished the other half in grim Mad Max combat.

For decades the @CDCgov looked at, and studied, its testing system, but did nothing about it. It would always be inadequate and slow for a large scale pandemic, but a pandemic would never happen, they hoped. President Obama made changes that only complicated things further.....

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) March 13, 2020

The American-Statesman is now part of Gannett, the largest newspaper chain in America. As of Friday, we are all supposed to work from home.

I have mostly worked from home for a long while. It’s easier. More efficient. But this saddens me.

But what really worries me is that at a time when newspapers will be more important than ever in informing and binding people together, the face-to-face contact with people that was always revealing and invigorating will be harder to come by.

Reality TV is a grotesque caricature of who we are. Social media is a snake pit, albeit occasionally useful.

On March 2, R.G. Ratcliffe, a political writer of about my age, posted on Facebook a warning to prepare for the coming panic.

"You can live a month without food. Three days without water. Once the panic sets in, the grocery store will be emptied in less than an hour. "

He suggested stockpiling water, rice and beans, "and peanut butter will last without refrigeration."

Yes.

My cousin Jo had a boyfriend when she was in college. He subsisted on nothing but peanut butter. That was odd, but he was otherwise very likable and he was a dancer and an excellent physical specimen.

I grew up brand loyal to Skippy. I like it best.

On Monday I bought a jar of Skippy at H-E-B. On Tuesday two more at Fiesta. On Thursday four more at H-E-B. But then I realized I was already halfway through the first jar. I had hoarder’s remorse for not buying more before panic sets in.

A refrain runs through my mind.

Hello, Skippy, my old friend.