I used to go off into long bends of automatic writing, thinking I was 'cataloging' the present day for the future, as if the lens of my crazy compulsion to type and type and type somehow would be a mirroring of other methods.
and if it were that I would be that person who was respected and 'thought of' in the future, and as if I'd be sung about and made heroic, and cities might be named after me for at ime before the vanity of it all would compell the gawds to bury it, some would say, but it would just be a rational mind to say 'no, nature isn't run by gawds in that method. If an avalanche buries a villiage, it buries everyone no matter who is the said a sinner, and who is a winsome pure hearted romeo ?
the sinner and sinless become catogories of no consequence, it's like a common carrier, everyone has to be respected with various sets of well-crafted rules.
and it was only the medical establishment that could be used to break it like an egg.
and they did it, didn't they, usurped the rules of medicene for the common usage of ordinary border-control tyrannies. But in this case the border they use is the door to the offices or the stores or the medical establishments.
we had all our borders blockered with stupid useless rules at the market and at the wellness-place, and the 'paid for' bus was only paid-for for those who had been fully jabbed, and it was a tyranny!
but everyone was too afraid.
they said
no one at our wedding can be un-jabbed
and they blame you for basically being afraid of doctors and needles unless you're too sick to care anymore.
anyway, ya, some of us knew what the gig is in that regard, knew about Ft Devens 1918,
read the book 'Plauges and Peoples',
understood that you had to decide if you could trust the cure suggested, or just walk away off into the cold wastelands of free parking because your that dead-beat broke and have no money to pay the twenny dolla fee that must be must be must be paid so says the gatekeepers at the parkin' garage.
and then the city of Bosstown took away most of the pay-a-little coin op meters and replaced them with dangerous bike lanes and nowhere new to park for those who had used those spaces for 35 years, and were often in and out of the city.
but the fantasy life of socialists who want to cuckle the world so no one has a private carriage unless they are a cock-o-the-governance, a paid-prince of the hallways and corridors, an appointen hedgemon in charge of all hiring . . . with appropriate law school credentials and an accademic legacy at one of the obvious schools . . .