I wish to speak on the subject

of chance and fortune; these notions are not particularly popular these days, and I think that is to our peril. I am not in favour of superstition; to accept that life is often a series of co-incidences — sometimes tragic and sometimes not — is not necessarily to endorse the idea that it can be predicted or changed with a deck of cards or a crystal ball. In fact if we accept chance we can accept life, because that is essentially what life is: change, flux and all the things that many of us dread, especially now. Life is also death as well as life. It cannot be predicted or controlled, ultimately, and it is this idea that is most frightening of all. Is it perhaps the acquisition of certain technological advances that makes us so foolhardy as to imagine we are not ultimately ruled by chance? Obsession with health flies in the face of acceptance of chance and change. Of course we can mitigate certain circumstances — we can choose not to smoke. We can — as we are told over and over again these days — wash our hands. We can put on that condom -- and yet still, somehow, still people die, and no one knows why. And it is especially wounding and terrifying when it is the ones who followed the rules most closely, the ‘good,’ who fall. Shakespeare said “As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods. They kill us for their sport.” This is a markedly pagan sentiment. First of all Shakespeare says ‘gods’ not ‘god.’ And second, Christianity preaches that even in the most tragic circumstances there is some order or at least justice (i.e Christ on the cross), even if it is of a kind that we are not privy to because it is beyond our comprehension. And Shakespeare’s boys are definitively not adults, and definitively wanton. ‘Wanton’ for Shakespeare had sexual connotations, and also literary ones, in 12th Night (or ‘What You Will’ — a title particularly appropriate to this discussion) Viola suggests that language is wanton, which means that it is promiscuous, that one word may team up with another word and cause trouble. This is all very Derridean in it’s relativism — for we are to understand then that words have no discreet meaning, but only derive their meaning from the context — which is the basis of puns — and why Shakespeare so liked them. ( I promise to stop being pedantic soon). Wit and especially puns were virtually banned in England after 1700 — people were interested in what was called a kinder gentler humour — wit was considered cruel and dangerous. (This reminds me very much of present day trans activists who disapprove of gay camp — well yes it is cruel, filthy, and might incriminate you and everyone else, that’s why I like it...) What I’m saying, is all about — what I’m saying. Speech, in it’s own way — if allowed to have its own way — is as dangerous as life, because words don’t always have reference a single object or clear ideas, they are allusive, and what is allusive is tempting, and may make us laugh, and/or turn us on, and/or make us think about things in a different way; even in a way that was not necessarily intended by the author. If God is an artist then he or she created a world which is deceptive, one whose meaning can be read in many ways by many different people, and one which cannot be necessarily ‘figured out.’ Aristotle attempted to explain tragedy -- I would argue, with limited success. We have no idea what it would be like to sit beside that singing, dancing foot stomping chorus, weeping and wailing with pity and fear in the tribal pit, and it certainly couldn’t have been divided into six elements. Plato banned poets in his ideal school, and quite rightly. But Plato and Aristotle were wrong to think an acceptance of the irrational denies us free will; morality is still necessary, in fact believe it or not I am extremely moralistic and judgmental — but I also recognise such tools can only get you so far. My best friend in my university days --Matt Walsh (where is he now?) -- was obsessed with injustice, and I have always been, to some degree too; at least when face to face with it. I wish I was more altruistic in my justice obsession, but selfishly I specifically abhor injustices done to me, not because of the consequences — I can live with those — but because it’s just not right. People are like the world itself— unpredictable and not to be trusted, but nevertheless to be enjoyed when possible. Last night I was flying on the wings of chance. In Montreal I don’t know a soul and am virtually incapable of starting a conversation in a bar (I tried that once about a month ago and the person seemed, well, disgusted). Anyway I sat down beside what turned out to be an attractive young man (it was an accident believe it or not) at Campus (a strip bar ) and when I was outside having one of the few cigarettes I allow myself, lo and behold he chatted me up. He’s attractive, nice, somewhat effeminate, probably we have nothing in common but strip clubs, but it’s a start. And it just happened; I didn’t make it happen, or do anything other than to be there, as usual. Then later, at the baths, I met Nick Scolaire— God knows, he must be famous, that is I would imagine God knows him. (isn’t that what fame is?) At any rate God had granted him an enormous — well I needn’t go on. But when I entered his room he was balancing a chocolate chip cookie on it. I found this profoundly witty (am I nuts?). I must say I did not eat the cookie, -- that would have been --  I don’t know — too much? (Do I have a right to use that expression about anything at this point?) No I didn’t eat the cookie but — well you get the idea. And he was just something that The Gods had planted there, perhaps to kill me from COVID or AIDs. But remember God is not vengeful, just crazy. I think I am more likely to be hit by a truck then be punished for my challenges to the medical establishment, because that would be a wanton act of the gods. Or I may just fall down the stairs. (I will not, however, be pushed by anyone!) Though many would have good reason to push me down the stairs, I insist that my death will be ignoble and most of all, and will not make any sense, because none of it does. It’s natural to want to protect oneself from disease, it is unnatural to think that the a vaccine will make us all ‘safe.’ There is a freedom that comes with embracing uncertainty — or so they say. — of course I trust ‘them’ about as much as I trust anybody.