Home Straight? Hemorrhoids?

Sure is nice today, as I run around doing the retail dance. Today's forecast: eggs, mild to some. Flour: fair mainly none. Pasta: slim chance of twists. Not for me. Apart from eggs which, like the rest of the world it sseems, I'm eating like a fiend. But then I have been for some years as eggs are immensely nutritious. You can keep the flour and pasta. That was for mother dearest. As long as everyone else eats conventionally I should remain untroubled. Bell peppers on the other hand are oddly absent, unlike most veg.

Well anyway, isn't that interesting. Hard to be mad at the ruins of society when it's this pleasant outside. Maybe the absence of people and their torrid bland activities has brought out a lovelier side to nature! I don't have to listen to 22 screaming blokey blokes playing little league football at the weekend, effing and blinding like a pub car park. The roads aren't filled with lunatics driving at stupid miles per hour, blaring the worst music possible (the louder the car stereo, the shittier the taste in music, am I right?). The purity of nature shines through. I kind of wish I had a camera to capture it really. Maybe next pandemic.

All in all it's been, touching all the wood, a fairly pleasant day. Albeit one living in the sunny shadow of the current crisis. That, as I've been attempting to portray over the last few weeks, is what makes this period so strange, in terms of feel. I'm not referring to the virus itself of course.

This sublime halcyon ennui (good lord!) is bookended by the waking of my subconscious at night. Where the compartmentalised realisation of where we are manifests. It can be strained: disruptive and sleep shirking. To quote Bohemian Rhapsody (as one does often during pandemics) "is this the real world?". Tis a bit like the life of the Eloy in HG Wells' Time Machine; a society of pleasant ennui (twice in one paragraph!) haunted at either end by the other aspect of future mutant humanity; the dire Morlocks. One it seems cannot exist without the other.

As things change, we must remember how normality feels. But also how that normality is being viewed: through the lens of crisis. If and when things do return, they won't be, and perhaps shouldn't be, as they were. Security and peace (of mind) are essential, but not indolence and laconic reverie. Pining for a world that existed up until a few weeks ago that wears much of the skin of the world of right now. The world of crisis. A world that needed desperately to change.

This is why I look to nature. A simple beautiful template for renewal. A simple effective world that has evolved to take care of itself without part of it straining against it. That's us. Straining to the point of becoming nature's own hemorrhoids (yes I went there).

You know I'm going to bid you good night on that terrifying image. That and the notion that, if Boris the Clown, survives the virus he frivolously earned, he will become insufferable. The hero who survived the plague ready to deliver us all. Fucking spare me!

Bye!