It was a bother at first,
some mega virus on the prowl,
will kill millions they told us,
then the message got scrambled….
ANd as the State began amping up the threat,
the death rate,
I narrowed my eyes and listened to Sage FRancis
I watched the statistics grow,
as I held firm upon my long concluded stance of
DONT TRUST THE GOVERNMENT OR CORPORATE CIA CONNECTED MEDIA THAT OWNS THEM…
THEY ARE A CORPORATION,
THEY SEEK TO OWN THE DISCOURSE,
THEY CONTROL THE MEDIA,
THEY OWN FACEBOOK, TWITTER, INSTAGRAM, GOOGLE…
Still, people are dying of this virus.
I have nobody I can trust,
not even myself…
as those who tell me someone they know had died of COVID are relying on those I DISTRUST.
and why do I distrust them??
They lied about Saddam having WMD and destroyed Iraq.
They lied about Yugoslavia and slaughtered hundreds,
then made their biggest military base in a new country they created,
and called it Camp Bondsteel…
They lied about Saddam.
They lied about Gaddafi…
They lied about Assad.
They lie about every invasion and mass murder routine for profit of their partners…
So I try keep steady,
absorbed the loss of the daily flow of artists from all over the world,
coming upon me,
to endure my feral bridge of Corporate to Street,
which was self indulgent always,
but helped to announce myself as something from whatever their creative zeal could reach…
I adored the locking of horns with fellow writers,
and fire breathers,
It nourished me, and sometimes made them feel welcome here…
That was gone.
I was sent home.
We are a conquered people.
we walk in step,
we dont shake hands,
we dont kiss,
we dont hug,
because we are told not to.///
The many are playing their part of a cog in the propagation routine,
sharing on fuckbook more FEAR,
‘do the right thing’
‘man the fuck up’
some nurse wrote,
which the yokels share with spastic pride and ‘out’ their neighbours as killers….
we wear masks or get fined,
we cover all that is immensely important,
for thousands of years of human contact,
face to face,
seeing the lips and cheeks and face express what the words spoken cannot.
The bucket dangling above the well pounced upon, sent down deep into the abyss, plumb the depths…and I quickly find these ramblings written upon the rocks with the wintry starlight blazing a trail from its core to mine, dancing across the water, carving through the land and floating across the space…‘I have to concede that the Covid bother has finally reached beneath my hardened cynicism and english grit. My own opinions on the state/corporate media are rather grim, yet the restrictions up until this week, had mainly removed my steady flow of collisions with street artists from all over the world, which was a major blow of sorts, yet still my movements generally beyond this were not curtailed. My liberty. And yet now…this mask routine, I find deeply dehumanising, and very few are talking of the absence of human touch…when we meet and greet, hug, embrace, shake hands, kiss…is so important to our well being. Just look at our closest relatives in the animal kingdom, who are always touching. And the face, to have this so covered, its where the vast majority of non vocal self expression is found and given…I am sad for my pixie nieces to be finding this their normal of how adults interact outside the home. Connections with other humans are what nourishes us most, what causes us to grow, to ache, to want, to need, to desire, to agonise…sanitising this, sanitises our humanity.’
I recoil and start to recover from echoes of myself, yet the ‘second wave’ proves as unavoidably hideous>>>
‘the propaganda, by which I mean what the state and mainstream media are repeating, is a more worrying virus in itself. It is encouraging fear and anxiety and hatred, eroding our natural bonds as a species. It encourages suspicion, lynch mong mentality, a self propagating virus of division and dependency upon our corporate overseers…’
Must steer clear of myself…find others to cling to, who meet some of my natural rhythm, and might come out the wash as just as cynical, but…they sound smoother, lovelier, and I always like the sincere smooth and lovely, a rare and precious thing in this world of a once mighty fierce wild and yet capable of noble and valour species, and now too often gone rotten on the vine>>>
And yet, whilst I accept my maniac romeo tendencies, the thirst for the richest wine of life I can drink and taste outside of my kinship efforts with all life that is not human, that chaotic removal of all walls, to find pure intimacy with a woman, for her to become the full moon every day to my most wild of waves…I still feel a need, for all these haphazard scribbles, to become focused on expressing myself as an honest mirror of existence, for good and ill. And something in me suggests, maybe that is more important….to write and ramshackle my virtual ink in wayward directions, but realise the compass which guides me, leads to Chaplin and Carl Sagan…
I lean towards that distancing of my perception to Space, to some hint of divinity of the galactic, universal furnace of existence..briefly. Then bounce back quickly, for why would I be fine and focused on this benign nihilism, which Sagan encouraged. It means something to me to wonder of the stars and planets…but I am here. I am Now. And rather than remove myself from the Now I open all senses and throw myself into the maelstrom. For I wish I could visit the moons of Saturn, prance upon the rings of Neptune with moon goddesses painting my path with their galactico derriere swaying in time with the glare of the nearest, dearest stellar provider of life and light…but…I am destined to prowl and thrive on Earth…and I will smile and dance naked in the glare of the moon in full bloom, write with my paws in the tides, embrace the wind flowing over and through me…sing to the sparrows…BUT…I am homosap, and remain focused on seeking those of my tribe who mean everything>>>