contempt for people these days. No, not all of them — well, MOST. I'm at the the train station and they are flooding onto — and off of —trains. For most, it is the first time in a very long while — these are the fragile ones, the careful ones, the special ones, I can tell as they venture forth, fully masked, (outside) with their brave little families. All is safe now; the doctors have told us we may step out into the world, so these vulnerable folks finally do, with some trepidation -- they take a breath, take a step (we can do it!). I can smell the fear— for there is so much for them to be afraid of. I, too, am afraid for the children, not because of COVID-19 no, they never had much chance of ever being sick. And yet that didn’t stop parents from worrying (and even now, the school boards warn us — might it be too soon?). But I know how these children will grow up — anxiety ridden, with ADHD, depression, gender identity disorder — painstakingly politically correct, unthoughtful — somewhat stupid in fact, but prone to pontificating endlessly in moral and political cliches — triggered by nearly everything, they will remain at home forever (even though the outdoors beckons and is permissible) in their sweatpants (a damp brown stain on the rear, but who cares?) curled up in their beds, with fake cats, or real ones, or YouTube cats, it’s all about cats —or kittens; being cozy, munching, getting fatter by the minute. Gay men learned earlier -- from AIDS -- how toxic the demand was that we cocoon. I don’t think anyone else knew what was going on. We saw portents of the impending new isolation: the dire warnings, the unprovable conjecture that everyone believed (you may be able to get it from blowjobs, at least no one can prove that you can’t!) the lies (I’m a virgin, and yet I have AIDS!) the forever proclamations (that’s it for me, I’m never ever going to a bar again!). But most of all, gay men watched -- less surprised than most perhaps -- as fear took over our lives. There are now two distinct types; the frightened and the unafraid, the pessimists and the optimists. The pessimists are young, millennial, liberal/woke. The optimists are truckers, viewers of Fox News, and your Dad. To be a credible lefty now you must be afraid of everything (as you are the ultimate victim) but specifically climate change, COVID-19, racism and now, of course Russia — and you must take it all very personally. After all, you were groomed as a child to nurture your vulnerabilities, to gather a list of reasons why you would not be able to finish that assignment or do that job. Despite how hopeless it all is, the pessimists nevertheless struggle on, avoiding plastic bags, sipping from paper straws, castigating those who do too much air travel — and who don’t have ‘diverse’ enough friends — basically all those who don't care because they are not afraid enough. I am an optimist. It’s been tough leaving ‘the left’— I still believe in social programs, and I’m an anti-essentialist (your physical body does not determine who you are) but alas, years ago I realized that I am not fragile, but strong, and that the world is a battle that must be met. And though each of us is destined for our not so unique individual tragic ending, we must try not worrying about that -- every single day, in fact it’s best not to think about it at all. Because 'living every day as if you will die that day' is not after all so much unlike living every day as if death does not exist. It will not do, to worry. I had anxiety attacks as a teen, went to see Dr. Gordon W. Tisdall who convinced me I wasn’t a homosexual (You get erections dancing with girls, don’t you? That’s a good thing!). But even after I came out the anxiety didn’t completely disappear. So to keep it at bay I now confess endlessly, it’s the only way — you have to hear it all! You may not approve — or may not even been listening — but that will not stop me from confessing. I’ve been writing about a boy recently -- I can’t be with him now because I’ve written too much about him, what’s that about? I’m seriously considering the idea of 'fuckbuddies' again — oh dear, they never work for me. I’ve been having unsatisfying evenings in the back room at my favourite bar, but maybe it’s because I’m so drunk when I get there I can hardly stand up (yes, that’s a double entendre!), but also (importantly) because I’m fighting the fear that is projected daily in the news; some dark-souled doctor predicting another lockdown, which may be my eventual demise...because NO — I can’t live like that! -- I can see no better reason to stop living than when all that is important in my life has been taken away. It’s the demonization of hippies that did this to us. No one really remembers them. I met an ex-hippie the other day. I knew him back in the hippie heyday — when I was in my early 20s — I thought then he was crazy, then. Now I realize he was just living. Yes — laughing, yelling, screwing, singing, drinking, acting, getting drugged up, disagreeing, dancing, doing things you wouldn’t ordinarily do but now do all the time, hugging strangers, screwing strangers, having orgies, casting your fate to the winds, venturing out into the night half naked on the hunt for adventure, not remembering what you did last night, being worried about what you got up to and the next day calling friends paranoid and asking them -- ‘How much of an idiot was I? Did I spit on Monica? Did I insult Austin?' ('Did I take out my dick again?') We cursed the hippies and forgot them, but those were the days — and still are — for those who never grow up. You have to congratulate J.,M. Barrie; Peter Pan got it right. But now, most of us are very VERY old, even the young ones; they are so afraid of death they can taste it. Instead, you might try living. Pretty much nobody one else is doing it anymore, so it might offer a nice change.