18.03pm Tuesday 28 April 2020.
I woke to the fact that it has rained during the night. My prayers have been answered. According to the BBC weather app on my mobile we are in for more rain over the next few days. Good. That should cool things down and give those chomping at the bit to get out, time to pause, time to rethink. I’m not watching any TV news. I’m missing my Channel 4 daily dose but my mental health is far more important than the race to get more and more macabre news stories out onto the airwaves. I’m thinking here of that big ginger prat across the pond. Him and all those who stand behind him at every doom laden briefing. E-fucking-nough!
There is good news and more good news in this household. Despite some of the most violent dreams I‘ve had in years I know I’m on top of them. They do not rule me or my daily interactions with others. Yes they are there for a very good reason. Perhaps more than one good reason. I’m slowly beginning to find out. The other good newseses are my delivery slots seem to have resolved themselves and I have gotten back on track with Book Three of The Triple Goddess. I have unblocked the pathway going forward in Book Three. That is a great relief.
The dreams and thoughts of my own mortality continue. I am learning how to cuddle up in bed and let these fantasies run riot. They are fantasies until such time they manifest into my daily reality. I’m also doing my Barbara Cartland bit as an ageing writer. I sit up in bed with a cuppa and the ‘Notes’ on my phone open as I type in all relevant thoughts and ideas regarding what is happening or not in my life. Speaking as a newly developing writer I feel the thing called ‘writers block’ is in my case perhaps, my own impatience to get on with things. I have allowed the book to quietly stew in the background. Aware that I want to get on with it but also aware I was not sure where to go and how to get there. I did have a vague plan but no details were emerging. I put it aside until I had more free space in my head. All this incarceration was getting in the way. I’ve been in the middle of a creative spinning wheel like a demented hamster going round and round non stop. Like Julia Mc Kenzie, I think I’m loosing my mind.
Not yet though. I hope I’ve got a little more to contribute before I piss off to begin another aspect of my unending search for answers.
I like many of my peer group are caught in a double bind. We, well many of us anyway, accept we are on that slippery slope. Speeding onwards to that point in space and time when within the blink of an eye we find ourselves in another reality. We’ve just popped our clogs. OOHH! That was quick. Hopefully that was quick for all of us. But it is not so quick is it? On our individual journey speeding towards the finish line we are constantly being loudly and obscenely obstructed by facts and figures regarding how many and how quickly others around us are dying because of the virus. Do I sense even the slightest hint of satisfaction from those in government and those reporting the news? A hint barely discernible, caught up in the babble surrounding us. Are they really glad to see the back of us? Those politicians and the right wing media freaks? Not only them. There are the billionaires and their flunkies, the CEO’s, the corporate lawyers of international companies and the ubiquitous Hedge Fund managers all secretly, not so secretly in some cases, gleefully rubbing their hands at the prospect of cleansing the planet of millions of poor sick citizens who are rapidly draining their resources. Draining their wealth.
The money which is rightfully, divinely rightfully in many of their mind sets, theirs. The prospect of killing us all off, the aged, the sick and disabled, without so much as a bomb being set off. What brilliant result. Hahaha! Yes it is in theory, on paper. But beware the small print my lovelies. Beware the small print. Camels and eyes of needles spring to mind? Dare I mention poor inheriting the earth. These are the words and prophesies of the gods you claim to follow.
What more can I say mr richard branson? Sitting out there on your island with your begging bowl. Beating your mate Boris the Horrid over the head, desperate for him to give you a hand out so you do not have to dip into your own pocket.
A trigger for violent dreams and waking fantasies. Should I be ashamed of them? UMM! Not really they have no way of becoming reality. It gives me a weenie bit if satisfaction. Without bloodshed. I tickle my imagination with the thought he could walk into his tropical garden and plop. A big coconut hits him on the head. Mr B brown bread. He should have put lime in the coconut instead.
The world is awash with right wing dictators and their ilk. Perhaps this virus is one way of nature fighting back. I for one would not begrudge mother nature that option of reclaiming much of what she has lost over many hundreds of years. Of course I’m being fanciful. Better dream of that than killing off the best part of the planet to further your own personal dreams of more and more money and power. So in my dying days, weeks, months or possibly years even I do have the right to call out those who are abusing their power to the detriment of those without much hope. I have the right to dream of wonderful exotic ways to trap them in their own spiteful, destructive lifestyles. I make no apologies for my violent dreams. Why should I?
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