Saturday, 11 September 2021

We were always

suspicious of parties. And for good reason; they often involve mingling and we all know what that leads to — a dangerous exposure to people we were really never intended to meet. Torontonians have decided  there is something about the dreaded lockdown that we quite like. It suits us. We hope it will never go away. It’s a challenge, after all, maintaining the ‘lifestyle’ necessary to support a million dollar condo. To do so, we must necessarily work — and very very hard. But we have always been hard workers — work is a virtue; only good can come of it. Many of us are descended from New England United Empire Loyalist stock — most all of us, at any rate, came here to escape disorder, decay, disarray, random associations, the irrational, the unmentionable, the frankly wrong. Toronto is a good city. That is why it was once labelled ‘Toronto the Good,’  It will get better every day. People mask everywhere — in cars, bicycles and and on street corners — such a joy to see! There is something about masks that is comforting and right. Not only is masking important, but remember Robert Frost’s New England dictum: ’good fences make good neighbours?’ No one said it better than that. A mask decrees: ‘We certainly are required to live in this world together -- but we do not necessarily desire it, nor do we wish necessarily, to be ‘intimate’ with each other. In fact, I am quite happy if we are not. Each of us must stay in our own little world. After all, exposure to that which is different — or even more alarmingly -- to what is radical and upsetting — is something we do not wish for, or want!' A mask says ‘stay away’ in a kind, and respectful way. Masks are courteous, polite, and part of a gentleman’s agreement that we not only will be apart, but we want to be. This suits Torontonians to a 'tee'. That there once were wild parties  — orgies even (! apparently, I have only really heard of them) — and people mixed willy-nilly and God forbid swapped sweat, and infected droplets, and God knows what else — for no apparent reason really, except to propagate disease — well we don’t do that now. We are not only suspicious of parties; we are cautious about fun in general. Sports are a different beast; they celebrate excellence, require work, and encourage speech only among the 'team.' There is such a thing as decadence — it destroyed the Roman Empire. And there are temptations--  in bars and restaurants -- and even really in anything that is loosely described as ‘fun.'' Humans are weak. Behind our masks, in our homes, we are strong,  nodding to fellow humans on our way to work,  socializing only within our families. This is the way -- dare I say it -- God meant us to be?  Perhaps we got sick because we went beyond home and family? And it is hardly a co-incidence that the family — more than any other social construct —  happens to deliver capitalism with unparalleled efficiency. And what's so wrong about that? There is of course one problem, one fly in the ointment, one testy irritation, a feeling that gnaws at us, like a canker — but we know it is not in any way that serious. (A tiny doubt.) It must surely disappear. For now and then our eye happens to settle on one of the 'unfortunates,' one of the opioid addicted, the mentally ill — one of the lost, the irascibly poor, who is a kind of blazon of failure, a symbol of all that does not work,  a reminder of what happens when life fails us and we fail it, too. The unfortunates seem everywhere right now. They crowd the streets; those who have fallen through the cracks. We feel pity for them of course. But we must not let the very sight of them erase our confidence in masks — for perhaps the unfortunates will follow our sterling example. At any rate vaccine passports will  likely keep the away from us; we will be unlikely to bump into an unfortunate by accident. There will in fact be no more accidents — Toronto will become what it has always meant to be, relentlessly middle-class, a kind of haven for those people who wish to lead unblemished and carefree lives, unvarnished by the kind of brutal intrusive exhibitions that some carelessly call ‘reality.'  A salient danger is FOMO — ‘fear of missing out’ — it does not strike many, but it does have a sting. We, however, the fortunate, the masked, are missing nothing -- only illness an death, which we are quite happy to avoid, and which the dreaded anti-vaxxers are now courting with their unGodly ways. Who says we hate pleasure? Nothing brings us more pleasure than working, and being considerate, thoughtful and kind. It's true that  in the past fun might have meant meeting a young man half our age on St. Catherine Street in Montreal. A handsome young man who used to work as a coat-check boy at a strip club, one who you were immediately fond of,  but you didn’t know why, perhaps only because he read books and liked to chat with you. You met him, by chance -- and then what happened? He appeared to be taking stock of your physical appearance -- because you were wearing, well, not very much, as it was still summer. And to top it all off, he also appeared to be flirting with you! Was it possible -- you wondered -- at your late age, to still be flirted with? Then he invited you to a masquerade party at a bar called Cabaret Expose. Cabaret Expose— the very epitome of decadence, of ‘fun’ — one can’t even venture to imagine what might go on there. At any rate, I think you get the picture. This is what some of your might think you are missing, only because it is representative of the kind of regrettable incident that did take place in the past. But think for a minute, really. Think about the rewards of being a present day Torontonian. You have meaningful work that sustains your condo. You know why you are here. Your relationships with others are firmly circled by barriers that clearly say 'do not cross any boundary I set without permission!' Most of all, the class system is firmly in place -- and getting stronger every day! To call this bliss is perhaps a hyperbole — and inappropriate — as bliss suggests mental impairment of a drugged sort; or even loss of control. Let’s call it contentment. Yes, let’s just leave it at that.

Thursday, 9 September 2021

The New Normal

1. If you are a disabled person you will have to stand up. There are no seats anymore for the disabled. They increase COVID-19 infection.

2. The people behind the counter at Starbucks will all be fat, and will have green hair (sometimes blue).

3. When you go to buy something, if you are wearing a mask, they will ask you to speak louder. When you do, they will say “There’s no need to shout!”

4. You will lose many friends. Some will hate you because you don’t follow the same COVID-19 rules they do. Some will commit suicide due to mental illness, exacerbated by COVID-19. Others will die of opioid abuse. It is better that you do not talk about these  deaths as they are not as important as deaths from COVID-19.

5. Anit-vaxxers should be denied entry anywhere — and they should be forced to be vaccinated. YOU MUST HATE THEM. They of course should not be treated by hospitals, and it really would be better if somebody shot them.

6. Everything the government says is true. If you challenge the government, you are evil.

7.  No illness is as important as COVID-19.

8. If your aunt or uncle dies of cancer — because there were no hospital beds due to COVID-19  --  it’s better if you don't talk about that either.

9. Nothing is anybody’s fault.

!0. No worries!

Sunday, 5 September 2021

Dear Kaitlin,

Alright, I’ll say it. I’ve had it with these anti-vaxxers. I really have. I think they’re horrible. They make me want to spit nails. They are killing people. I give you full permission to hate them, I certainly do. I mean how could anyone be so stupid? Chloe was going on about ‘don’t be so hateful’ —  she brought up something that Marjorie Taylor Greene (can you believe it?) said about the government being Nazism. Well, hating anti-vaxxers is about hating killers. Period. The Jews didn’t kill anybody, so they didn’t deserve to be gassed. But when it comes to anti-vaxxers — Jesus! They are threatening the lives of our children. No —  they are killing children! Innocent children are dying because of these freaks! So it’s okay to hate them. There are some people who deserve to be hated, because they are evil, and anti-paxxers are evil. That said, I am so glad we’re finally going to get our vaccine passports in Ontario. I love it, I really do. Oh yes, when Ford finally came around Chloe made another genius comment. She started talking about her brother George, — you know the one who’s very dyslexic? “George will not be able to manage a vaccine passport, he will be exiled from society!" Dear me. (I’m not sure that’s such a terribly bad thing!) First of all I pointed out to Chloe that George has always been ‘exiled from society.’ He’s never been able to function like a normal person. Chloe said: ‘this just makes it worse.’ I don’t see how. The point is this: any who can’t figure out how to put a vaccine passport on their phone deserves to stay home. And if they don’t have a phone, well spare me -- I mean, in this day and age? So some restaurants have been doing this whole passport thing — that is they are requiring proof of vaccination in order to eat there. I just adore it. Really, it’s like a breath of fresh air. Let’s face it, people who are doubly vaccinated are my kind of people. I mean they are actually people, unlike anti-vaxxers, who are no better than animals. It’s so nice to go to a restaurant and be surrounded by the kind of people I feel comfortable with. You know, well-dressed, highly-functioning, highly-articulate thoughtful people. But you know, I must say the thing that really makes me happy about eating among the ‘well vaccinated’ is that I don’t want to be around anyone who is stupid or hateful or dysfunctional enough not to get the vaccine. These days when I go to a restaurant I know that the people sitting around me are like minded. I am among friends. I’m sure I’ll make a lot more friends when I go out dining — I won’t be afraid to talk to people because everyone there will be of — well a certain level of intelligence and discernment — don’t you think? Anyway I can’t tell you how happy I am with the direction in which society is turning. I mean we’ve all known for a while, haven’t we, that there is another class of people, who surround us, and who lately, have been trying to sneak themselves into the ‘club’--  that is the club of polite society where the real people like you and me hang out? Have you felt it? I have. I mean there are people who still use the n-word — yes believe me they do exist! And then there are the people who don’t understand transgender people. I am deeply sympathetic with transgender people. The fact that Chloe’s son used to be her daughter, we all accept that. But all Chloe does is complain about it. Really sometimes I don’t know if we should stay friends with her. She has been double-vaccinated and is super scrupulous about masks, but she has actually said that if a booster comes she won’t take it! (She says she’s tired of being vaccinated, can you imagine?). I say if she doesn’t get the booster we just cut her. I mean why should we put our lives in danger? Anyway Chloe can only complain about Sylvan, when she should be happy that he has found his true self. She’s all worried that Sylvan’s  going to regret not having breasts and having a period. As for breasts — well all women know that when it comes to breasts it’s men who are fond of them, not us, and when it comes to menstruation I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Anyway I don’t want to be around people who are not kind and gentle and loving — and that’s who you and I are. We open our hearts to people of colour, I mean I won’t go to a party any more that’s all white people. When Harper was having a party two weeks ago I just asked her straight up, will there be any people of colour there? She treated my like I was crazy. As you know, I didn’t go. Should I have gone? I mean I’m glad I didn’t go, but you did — and I certainly don’t blame you for that, I would never blame you for anything. I just wondered, was it the usual Harper debacle or was it any fun at all? Apparently her young nephew was there — the doctor? Is he as handsome as people say -- as good-looking as in his Facebook photos? I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t be. Anyway, I am assiduous, not only about vaccines, and masks, and distancing, but about acceptance of all people no matter who they are or what their sexuality is. I just love people! And I’m privileged to live in a world that has become so enlightened, kind and accepting. Oh one more thing about Chloe. She’s sleeping with somebody again. I think it’s that itinerate musical character? Hank? She thinks he’s some sort of genius, I don’t know, but is that an excuse for being promiscuous? Chloe pretends to be so innocent but really honestly I think she’s slept with more men then I have. I mean I certainly had my share of fun after the divorce, but when it comes down to it, if you count them, well there isn’t much to count. Not that I’m judging. I’m thinking about Chloe’s welfare that’s all. That’s all I do -- think about other people’s welfare. I sometimes think I’m kind of a saint, or trying too hard to be one. Except when it comes to anti-vaxxers, then I have to admit I lose my cool. I think they should all be shot.
                    Don’t be a stranger
                    (and hugs — now that we can do them!)

Friday, 27 August 2021

I didn't want

to write this; then I thought about my Vancouver fan base (3 people) and I just felt guilty. Maybe this will help. I have COVID PTSD -- you probably do too, there are 'after effects.' For me it's the incurable longing to be at the epicentre of a group. Writing this brings back nightmares of a year and a half alone -- for an unreprentent ENF on the Briggs-Myers scale (yes me and Oprah Wnfrey) you need followers, you need someone to inspire --  to be in a room with, not a million miles away-- not someone that you never see and who sends you emails once a month (thankyou Vancouver fans not that I’m not grateful!). But here I am, doing it. I’ve almost finished writing a book so I may need this again. So I might as well get started. How are you? Obviously, I don’t know, and I don’t care. Yes, I do care. I sincerely hope you are dealing with your COVID PTSD -- at least better than I am. You might be desperately wanting crowds -- like me, or perhaps fearing them, or you could be recovering from a COVID breakup or suddenly deep in a new COVID union, or just happy as a clam doing laundry, getting fat -- yearning for another lockdown. My biggest fear; that it will happen again -- the threats are a kind of pathology. It’s all for our own good, I know, it’s all about getting people vaccinated - but Jesus Christ how are you supposed to live under this kind of pressure? The government is not only our parent but a supremely dysfunctional, no abusive, one --  pulling out the rug from under us at every other moment. I recently saw two wonderful movies, and yet they just made me mad because the reviews were so friggin’ lousy — I Care a Lot and Flag Day. Well of course Sean Penn is going to get bad reviews. He's an asshole in real life. But the quality of an artist's work is in direct proportion to their ass-holeness. (Sorry about that, but it’s true.) The more of an asshole — child molesters and Nazis go to the top of the list --  the better the art is. Sorry, it’s just a rule. (Like ‘wear a mask’). Flag Day is a film about an asshole, made by an asshole, and you've got to give Penn credit for that. The reviews are typically screwed up. Apparently the movie is not 'woman centred' enough for most critics. Sean is apparently promoting it as being about the character his daughter plays, but it’s really about the character he plays. How narcissistic. Well, duh. Anyway the film is about Penn’s character: a ‘flim-flam' man, a gangster shyster with a helluva charming personality -- I laughed out loud several times. The hypocrisy of all this is amazing, we’ve been enjoying The Music Man for years,  a musical classic about how wonderful a supreme asshole is -- a manipulative liar who takes everyone’s breath away. What’s really scary about the reviews for Flag Day and I Care a Lot are remarks like “These people are so unappealing; why would you want to watch a film about a bunch of people who are so evil?” Are you nuts? What were you expecting -- a medieval morality play? And you rooting for Jesus? Can you think of anything more boring than a play, novel, or movie about good people? (At least The Friggin’ Bible -- an okay novel, by the way if you haven't read it -- has Mary Magdelene and Pontius Pilate.) I Care a Lot is quite another matter; it’s a homophobic, auteur, thriller — it reminds me very much of Basic Instinct, we haven’t seen a ‘lesbian killer’ of quite this ilk for awhile. Rosamund Pike has the devilish heroine down pat (even  the bad hairdo— very accurate, most lesbian killers do have bad hairdos, by the way). Run, do not walk to see I Care a Lot because you get to watch two really sexy, evil, women kill people -- it’s something we all love of course --but in movies it's mostly men who get to be killers (unless they are comic book heroines)— well actually I should say who get to be truly effective at anything— so in that way this film is revolutionary. But one can’t ignore the blatant misogyny of it all, which I enjoyed, because it was so vile, and quite alarming. The film gets away with murder the same way the heroines do, because it’s supposed to be about greed and corruption. Anyway, if you can handle the usual sexy, cliched, misogynistic lesbian-phobia there’s lots of other juicy stuff here too. First there’s Diane Wiest, who is a saint as far as I’m concerned, an incredible Woody Allen actress who should be in everything, and thank God she’s not dead. Then there is Rosamund Pike’s hairdo. Then there is Peter Dinklage — I am assuming he is what is saving this movie from total damnation, because he is a short person in a huge part, which rarely happens. He’s also a juicy actor, and juicily naked at one point (I’ve always had a thing for midgets -- I know you want to hear -- I've never had sex with one, but I almost did once. It was like that thing that almost happened with Rudolf Nureyev -- I wanted to, but all I would have been thinking about during the act would be the specialness of it all, and there would have been shrinkage. (Shrinkage with Dinklage.) Anyway, this movie too, is apparently not rosy and cheery and moral enough for the puritanical Americans who have been watching and who are complaining that it has nothing redeeming to say. Jesus you are not in church, you are not in diversity training at work, you are not listening to your boss or the Chairman of the TTC giving you the requisite COVID lecture, you are watching a work of art, it’s not supposed to be supplying you with information or with the soothing sense that you are a really good person, it’s supposed to be screwing up your brain. That’s what art does. It leaves you wounded and panting, just like that guy with the giant-you-know-what who bursts into your room at the baths and suddenly plunges it into you at top speed, and you barely have time to check for a condom (but, of course, you do). You know what I mean. You always know what I mean. Because you are me. Or I can imagine you are. (By the way, it's good to be back.)

Friday, 30 July 2021

Stillwater was great.

 I was waiting all movie for a glimpse of Matt Damon’s new ‘Dad Bod’. Well, he shows it off (coming out of the shower near the end); he’s so big and gorgeous and bloody masculine he can hardly speak. Anyway I do hope that this brings lots of converts to the Dad Bod — as I seem to have one. At least a young man complimented me on mine the other night after we had sex. ‘I just love Dad Bods,’ he crooned. I was not the least insulted — just grateful he didn’t call it a ‘Grandad Bod’ which is what it definitely was, in terms of him. But as to the content of Stillwater, it’s all very ‘relevant;’ it aims to heal the divide — well — all divides really — as it’s the story of a redneck’s trip to Cote d’Azur, and sure he enough, he learns to love it, and it learns to love him. You see? It will all be okay. What’s fascinating to me is that Damon’s love interest Camille Cottin — who is meant to represent the opposite of the 'redneck' i.e. French high culture (and high culture in general) is into —you guessed it — theatre. It’s nice to know theatre retains its pride of place representing all things esoteric and pretentious. It’s nice to know that being a playwright still means being tedious, pompous and obscure! That’s what we always were and always will be. At one point Cottin kisses a theatre director— he's skinny with a ponytail -- but we know he is no competition for the slightly-saggy-titted-and-massive-bummed-Dad-Bod that is Matt Damon. And then there is a scene where the same bun-headed wimp is directing an avant-garde play (I direct those too, by the way) and in the play they are intoning: ‘There is no truth.’ The line is meant to personify the height of balderdash — i.e. egg-headed bullshit — and when Damon is asked about the play all he can do is shrug and say is “It was good.” (But you just know he hated it.) Dare I amend the error? Of course theatre must etnerally epitomize the height of coma-inducing boringness, but these days a playwright would ever write ‘there is no truth.' Now every playwright knows what the truth is; I shan't bother to tell you, we all know anyway, and we go to the theatre to have our egos stroked for being really good, tolerant pro-trans people, pro-Indigenous folk, guilty as hell but penitent, who want to save the environment, wear masks and just generally be better than God. It’s nice to know that films are still not only earnest and occasionally thoughtful but also well made and suspenseful (as Stillwater is). The big moment is a critique of ‘Woke Folk.’  When Cottin refuses to talk to a racist man — even though the man might save Matt’s innocent daughter from prison -- Damon confronts her saying something like ‘we have people like that back home -- and we talk to them.’  He becomes the messenger of tolerance from the right. But for all its good intentions, no one is going to buy this. Yes, Damon says he didn’t vote for Trump, but he does own two guns — something he mumbles as a kind of caress when he screws Cottin for the first time. Nothing can come of this kind of well-meaning dramaturgical compromise, because compromise no longer exists in life. Come on, you know who is evil --and it's not you  - she’s on Facebook or he’s at the shop, and you nurture your anger against them, aging it — like fine wine. There is nothing quite so satisfying as knowing you are right, and so many ugly numbskulls are wrong. Well I can solve all of this, literally with my butthole. Susan Sontag calls this an ‘erotics of art.’ I’ve figured out what is wrong with the world. None of us gets screwed in the ass enough. The fact that you might think I am cursing you or demanding you suffer just indicates how messed up we all are. Yes, I seriously mean this. We all need to get screwed in the anus— it has to be in the back -- the front just won’t do. In fact I suggest you do it now. I had this startling revelation last night when someone was screwing -- well, back there, I think. With something. His penis was somewhat involved (and yes it was suitably sheathed, so for chrissakes calm down) -- but probably also fingers and god-knows-what. It was fabulous. And I kept thinking — what have I been missing? And why? In Allen Ginsberg’s interview with Playboy in 1969 he said “The anal-sphincter-prostate orgasm… is a great opening of feeling and delight and an extraordinarily beautiful experience, and rare. Possibly everybody should experience it.” Well, no one listened. He also went on about what tolerant people we would all be if we all had rectal ecstasies. This I agree with, too. Then he went on about men understanding what women go through. This is a bit too essentialist for me, as first of all we’ll never understand what they go through, as we don’t go through it, and second of all not all women go through that -- I mean -- are screwed in the front. One of my best friends, who used to go on about how big her husband’s penis was, once told me when she was drunk — “I never let him screw me.” Apparently she just adores his penis, in various other ways, which is fine too. (But everything is fine.) The reason why you need to be screwed in the behind is because it’s a nasty place, a bad place, a place that yucky things come out of, and nothing should go in to. Wrong! Can’t you see that both conceptually and biologically anal sex is the definition of revolution? Which begins at home,  so please start sticking things up there right now. I know. You’re going to say that Allen and I believe this because we are homosexuals. No. I mean we are, but — stop me if you’ve heard me say this before. Straight men are much more obsessed with anal sex than gay men are. I’m practically dead — and I’m only coming to terms with my asshole now. What took me so long? Whereas straight men have been obsessing about putting it up women’s bums (and doing so) for centuries. Vive la difference! Except when it comes down to it, there isn’t any, really. Unless of course you want to have sex with it. And then for most people (sad but true, I don't know how to tell you this--all you 'genderqueers') it matters very much what kind of ‘it’ it is.

Sunday, 25 July 2021

It’s mainly about

trying to forget it all happened, now. But all these bulging stomachs keep reminding me. Everyone is fat, I don’t even recognize some of my friends. Then there’s the friends. I depended on them so much during lock down -- needing them desperately-- which is all part of my abandonment complex, which  lock down put into warp speed. I think a couple of them are now scared of me —' Is Sky being clingy and needy again?' You see I got into the habit of urgently filling my life during lock down, planning weeks ahead what will I be doing at every moment?  I’ve always been a 'scheduler' and the fear was — I tried to explain this to my partner and he totally didn’t understand (that’s why I’m calling him my ‘partner’ today) -- the way my life was organized in the past, was I drank to — well nearly to --  but not completely, to — oblivion, two nights a week, and the rest of the week I was home watching CNN, writing, feeding the cat, and arguing with but sometimes loving (though arguing can be loving) my partner. That worked for about 20 odd years (and they were odd). Suddenly the spectre of every night is empty lay before me. I realize now that the reason previously I was able to endure five nights a week of no drinking, and oh yes this is very important -- 5 nights of no promiscuous sex -- was because I had the other two nights of the week to be a crazy drunken slut. I know this pre-COVID-19  life plan might sound unhinged -- but all of my therapists approved of it. They said — 'Hey if it works for you, then go ahead!'  So then the wrench got thrown into the works, that is I got hit hard by tet COVID-19 wrench and suddenly weekends spent drinking with a friend and not getting laid just didn't hack it. So okay, yes I admit it.  All alone in my room in Toronto (what could be more sad?) late at night every Friday and Saturday I would jerk off with the help of poppers and porn. It was poppers I was looking forward to, all week, really. (It's my drug of choice). But weekdays became difficult too, because poppers filled my nose but -- to be pathetically poetical -- not the hole in my soul. At home during the week, my worst fantasy was that at I might end up siting in my room staring at the walls at 11 pm wondering ‘why is there air?' (that’s a quote from Bill Cosby, sorry). So I would work furiously in the evenings until quite late at night. And yes I have managed to write most of a book, and far too many blogs. But it all had to be scheduled, every moment, and if I went off my schedule I panicked. So the trick now is, abandoning my abandonment issues, as there is now a shitload of stuff to look forward to (yes sex and even plays, maybe). So I threw the poppers out the window. I made a pact years ago never to buy them, and to rarely use them even when offered, as they rot your brain and are the same as huffing cleaning products under the sink. So can you see why many of us don’t take kindly to all  you self-righteous masked do-gooders warning us ‘there will probably be another lock down?” I really couldn’t care less about my or anyone else’s physical health, when our mental health is at stake. And the kids! I can’t imagine! When you see another fat belly jiggling by just imagine it's the brains and emotions of those kids bouncing up and down, locked in a their rooms when they should be running free, more lonely, more alone, than you and I could ever imagine, because for them it feels like forever. Perhaps my popper confession; was just too much? My unsavoury drug addiction? My masturbatory habits? It’s all I can offer; it's the way I crucify myself for you. It's the least I can do as an artist  i.e. strip myself naked emotionally -- because hey, your life isn’t easy, either, I’m sure. Speaking of which, if you want to see a very witty non-artist pretending to be an artist, watch Bo Burhnam’s Inside. It’s squeaky clean and politically correct, although he does get three-quarters-naked a couple of times (he has a lovely treasure trail leading to….?) and he -- somewhat like me -- also endlessly castigates himself. But Bo, if you’re going to put yourself down, you need to talk about having a popper addiction and jerking off to porn alone in a dark Toronto flat. If the best self-criticism you can come up with is ‘I’m a white person and I feel guilty, and know I should shut up, but frankly I just care too much’ well you need to go back to your electric piano and start over. Getting popcorn at the movie theatre before Inside -- there were only 3 other people there (you can watch it on Netflix. I just wanted to go to a movie theatre, because I can) -- was a lonely little family. A fat mother and her two fat sons.The sons were of indeterminate age but teenagers basically, and probably gender fluid. I had to stand behind them as I was waiting to get to the mustard for my hot dog (they were taking an enormous amount of time picking out toppings). Passing my time gazing their giant backsides scared the hell out of me. This is the youth of today, living with mom, fat, gender indeterminate, depressed about everything, generously accepting apologies ('No worries!'), nurturing their inner victim, and hoping they never have to do anything or live in the world-- or god help them -- lose weight.  I don’t want people to be fat. I know, you think I’m shaming them. It’s about COVID-19, okay?  I never thought I’d say it, but that crazy lady Marjorie Taylor Greene did utter one wise thought (yes she did, bad people can say good things, i.e. I agree with Trump on free speech) when she said -- "Instead of doing all these crazy lock downs, people should lose some weight!" It's difficult to hear, but most of the people who die of COVID-19 are overweight. The fact that this crazy Qanon wingnut got booted off twitter for saying that just means… beware, everyone. When speech and thought become  crimes they will  be drawing outlines of all our bodies on the pavement. We need to say and think whatever we like honey! On pain of death, or just on having having to read a solipsistic, narcissistic diatribe like this.

Sunday, 18 July 2021

I am on

the train beside a madwoman. I hope she doesn’t read this. She is very small, has long straggly hair -- constantly runs her fingers through it -- then waves those fingers in my general vicinity. She also has a gigantic suitcase about the same size as she is, and when she arrived she tried  to shove it into the bin above the seat. Everyone around said — ‘No No! It won’t fit!" I refused to help her for that reason. The suitcase almost crushed her; she almost fell to the floor, but I rescued her, and then insisted she put the suitcase somewhere else. Whew. She doesn’t seem to know anything about train protocol (‘Where is the bathroom ? Am I permitted to go now?’) She is now slumped down in her seat in her track suit sleeping(?), I think she just craves attention before mainlining whatever drug is the cause of her crazy. She is part of the new normal. During COVID-19 no one traveled, and when we did, we weren’t allowed to sit together — now we are packed together like sardines wacko beside wacko. Speaking of the future, here’s what to expect:
1. People Will Be More Divided
It looks like ‘health’ will take the place of race, and gender and sexuality as the primary issue of the day — i.e. maskers vs anti-maskers. Like all excellent polarisation issues, this one is a matter of life and death Those who hate homosexuality think we are killing you with AIDS, those who hate abortion think women are killing babies, those who want to give their children puberty blockers believe that if we don’t we are killing trans children, and now those who do not wear masks are killing you -- but especially your children — even though children don’t even get very sick with COVID-19 (don’t listen to anything they tell you about kids and COVID-19, it’s just  news porn, and fun for you to worry about, but that’s all it is, trust me). Add to that each ‘side’ has been online chumming it up with their dumb counterparts, the thickheaded numskulls on Facebook who scream  ‘Anit-vaxers should be shot!’ or, conversely ’Vaccinations will kill you.” Well they can eat each other for all I care, but they may accidentally munch on me in the process; so I am forced to pay attention. It’s all about conspiracy theories — the Anti-vaxers believe the government is trying to kill its citizens, and the Vaccinators think the Anti-vaxers are trying to kill everyone. But you may say— ‘The  anti-vax movement is a lie.’ It is, But everyone’s lying these days anyway, and that doesn’t give you the right to hate someone who doesn’t want to get vaxed, or to want to kill them. But you will, anyway. That is the new normal.
2. People Will Hate Other People More
If there’s one thing COVID-19 taught us, is that we don’t need other people. Don’t believe any of those commercials where vaccinated people are running into each other’s arms — hugs, kisses and certainly oral sex are now officially suspicious activities. You see, humans work like this: they fear everything until it becomes humanised. (The Nazis were able to kill Jews because they became un-human to them.)  As the world becomes less human,  it becomes more dangerous. You have spent a year in a half being  told the only way we will survive is by not reaching out and touching a person of another colour, a queer, or just anyone outside your little tribe. This is going to screw us up.
4. Nothing Works
You will have to go online for everything now, and nobody is going to answer the phone anymore, because they work from home. Everything will break i.e. be hacked, and no one will know how to fix it. The world will become more and more dysfunctional. Now that we have been told our lives revolve around the internet — bad people will try and destroy our lives by destroying it.
5. The best way to survive is be  human if you  can, i.e — have lots of sex with lots of strangers, talk to strangers, assume anyone who is different from you is probably a good person, and constantly touch other people, and — most important — stay off social media at all costs, and avoid the internet when you can. You must see Pig — a new movie with Nicholas Cage.(It’s funny that people are falling all over themselves to assure us this is not a ‘Nicholas Cage movie.’) In one scene (in a restaurant) Cage talks to a chef — and in doing so, says it all. I don’t want to spoil it, but Pig is about a man who loves a specific pig more than anything else (he specifies that he does not have sex with the pig it's not that.) In this movie, you must read  'a pig’ -- as 'a human being' (remember pigs are nearly as smart as us, and for sure smarter than the guy who is cursing you on Facebook presently!). Last night I did my bit to survive the new normal, I went to a strip club and happened upon a young man there who was once in a play I directed. He is now a porn star. Wow. Please don’t rush to be in one of my plays. His case is quite unique. When I worked with him, I found him very ‘interesting’ -- kinda beautiful in an odd way, very original, and perhaps on the autism scale. I really liked him. So I got his phone number. I don’t want to screw him necessarily. But he is doing his part to keep us all human by having as much sex as possible. You can rant all you want to against porn, but sex trade workers are kind of like Gods, so please try and be nice — even if being nice is  not part of the 'new normal.'
6. I think the very strange woman beside me on the train is masturbating. I think the man in the couple in front of me is talking to the baby in his wife’s belly. These are people. We must somehow learn to live with them. It's the only way,