i was born a hypochondriac. came out wondering what weird illness this was, this strange sensation of having sensations. i've been expecting personal, societal and environmental calamities ever since. instead, i got three and a half decades of relatively hazardless creative, sensual and philosophical exploration. i was one of the historical anomalies: young and male and not shot in the back by a general or else drawn and quartered and eaten by wolves or even gangbanged by horny succubi and then left to protect the remaining erections from repetitive strain complications resolved by depenestration.
i was lucky.
what did you expect? what did you get?
what do you expect next? what will you actually get?
when will covid-19 end? where is the voice of reassurance? where is God now He'd finally be of use? (or She or Them or however "God" self-identifies)
a photo of the dying on respirators makes my chest tight. i long to escape this small parcel of space generously allotted to me by a family who took me in when i happened to be half-homeless and half homewardly aspirational when the pandemic plonked itself upon us and WHAM-BAM
i escape in a borrowed car with the windows up and find a lonely trail on a mountain and run until i can breathe again and then sit, weeping, watching the city of adelaide, longing for a hometown i always longed to leave, because it's familiar, and nothing is familiar anymore, but this view, of a strange but beautiful city silently trembling before a haze where the ocean disintegrates into the sky, this view... this view... it is something solid. not familiar, perhaps, but solid. it is where civilisation meets the apple tree man and i can breathe again. i weep. my nose runs. then i run. a hiker with a dog tells me there's a brown snake further along the trail. we keep at least a metre and a half distance between us. i run towards the snake. it does its expected thing and fucks off into the scrub. but imagine that? i think. a brown snake with no fear. it wouldn't go anywhere, just calmly watch me approaching like some haggard pandemic for which it has the perfect vaccine.
will our loved ones die? will the "boomer remover" kill god? will i be one of the unlucky young ones? will the plane crash? will a martyr with a bomb-vest board this bus? will every kid wearing a trench-coat listening to marilyn manson come into my classroom and shoot me in the head? will i be sodomised and eviscerated by ivan milat while i try to get some shut-eye in the van? will future me find present me via time travel and commit murder-suicide and yet somehow spare himself?
this has been such a weird life. but how could it be any different? what could possibly constitute normal?
when i arrived nobody told me the return date. but anyway. maybe for now we won't have to pay taxes.