Mohammed Suliman uses the present continuous to chronicle, in 140 characters or less, living through the Israeli attack on Gaza. The immediacy of his brief dispatches on Twitter make his feed viscerally discomfiting to read. It’s all happening in real time. There is no future, we exist in the same continuum of time as him, the simultaneity of his precarious survival and our relatively secure lives suddenly stark, obscene, unjust. He tells us he hears explosions, walls shake, he loses his hearing for a moment. We, the long distance spectators of war, wait for his next tweet. Is he alive? Is he still alive? Is he still alive to tell us about death after death after death of people making bread in their houses, shifting to safety, running friends to hospitals, death after death after death of people going about the mundane business of living. Mohammed Suliman’s twitter feed is a real time war diary that conveys the horror of civilian life under military attack in a way that no amount of televised news coverage of mangled children’s bodies after the fact has achieved. Even though there’s no image of this war in a medium such as this, only words, only spare, truncated sentences, it refuses to let us forget that while we have our morning tea and browse the newspapers, civilians in Gaza wonder if they will become collateral damage in the next hour. News items fit Mohammed Suliman’s timeline. But war is felt in fragments, and we learn to look past the narrative of news items. There is no narrative, no heroism, no martyrdom that can capture the present continuousness of war, except perhaps brief dispatches in the present continuous.