Returning to normal when normal was, and still somewhat is, purely abnormal?
We must rush while We wait, nerve-needling torrents of watching ‘murica so much less than great, propelling towards an obvious future that keeps the same problems rolling on, like pink slimed meat glopping down some anguished conveyor belt in the sweatshop factory of settled mediocrity. Lookaround.
See the smothered souls, hindered hearts, crushed capacities. Do not: let this creeping cavalcade of confusion squander the immense growth You have made. Even as growth can feel more like stasis, or, perhaps, an ever-expanding tumor.
Hope is as scary as a 24 hour movie marathon of “The Shining.” Almost intangible, like some hotpink rose nestled in the densest crown of thorns. You can reach for it, warily, but you might get pricked.
Why do I write/right now, when the world is mostly on pause: Because I can see those unmasking masses, careening down my sidewalk under the weight of multiple Dollar Tree bags, as a too-fast car lurches past them with every window unrolled, blaring a corny vintage rock tune that pays homage to adolescent rebellion.