We Are Boss

On entering one of Sainsbury's stores, one of the door personnel stopped me - palm raised: "Sorry, love, you haven't got . . ." The duty security guard, however, waved me on with militaristic flair - literally pushing the woman off balance. He made a 'zip it' gesture. Obedient. She said nothing. My friend and I couldn't stop laughing. This happened because I was wearing an 'exempt band' - so no 'muzzle' for me.

Once home, we skipp'd the night fandango with a couple of girls. Neighbours didn't complain. No bizzies around. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. The girl I was with asked me to cuddle her - grabbing me. Poor creature was, I sensed, so bereft of affection. I understood what she meant. Of course, I obliged. This was, after all, the rallying cry of a poverty-stricken moment. The Whitley Neill double distilled blackberry-flavoured gin had, in true fashion, softened the harsh edges of the living room furniture. And M83's shoegaze synth sweetened the airwaves . . .

Bureacracy's worked overtime at creating a Covid tableau: one of real performance art - rolled out - perpetually speaking, of more 'grey' doublespeak. Such awful subjunctives yes, um, our hope is that we, er . . . ease restrictions soon. All this ferro-cement: filling the rebar mesh around our brains - bleaching colour, leaching iron out of our systems. Anaemic faces and the eyes of caged zoo animals. We are fast becoming neutered templates: a fetishization of NO CONTACT. And to think our distant cousins came to their senses . . . geologic, plant, animal - the Ages of Man - divided by the brain. Sweat. Blood. Tears . . . brought to this - a screeching halt? So there He/She is, the first self-realized earthling - declaring: I AM HERE IN THIS BODY AND KNOWING IT.

The girl I embraced had become more of a Duracell battery - rigid with cortisol. The fat in her tissues had congealed. She was far from, I imagined, the tender out-reaching flower she'd been: walking on air, sporting new hairdo, turning heads. She even asked if I'd missed it - just cuddling? Those puppy-dog eyes looking into mine, certainly called for some honesty: "Of course, my darling, we're not bloodless statues . . . cuddles are a must." It received a big smile. I could smell . . . (sniff) - Poison on her nape, even felt the pulse of her carotid artery. Suffice it to say, the night was in our hands. Fun. Playful. Felt good to reconnect.

So we chose to NEGATE the fear-narrative - embracing our own earth-ideas. We know that: the observing consciouness influences the result. So we've been, as you can imagine - BUSY - having all sorts of FUN. Because that's what real earthlings do!!!