Caught In Terran Terrain

They cancelled Christmas. He smashed himself into the undergrowth, all the better not to be detected. The twining threads of flesh that riveted out across the surrounding terrain, that bleeding flesh of the ordinary, that moment when they knew all was lost, that all their efforts to save the place were pointless, and he felt tired and riven with the pointless marshaling of forces, the dreary voices of the all-too interested, or all-too critical, as bored Watchers on the Watch complained about the massive waste of time it all was, and he felt driven into place. 

There was a ship above. 

All the air was distorting. 

There were rivers running through everything, even the threads of their own lives; as if each and everyone was something more than themselves, a part of a greater whole.

The Sanctuary was coming to an end.   

The world's most boring man, the utterly futile waste of space called Jeffrey who lived, or sank daily dank into his own bile in the front room, rarely emerging, schemed behind everybody's back, a putrid piece of work. Unintelligent. Uneducated. Uninteresting. With No Discernible Talent. And not even good looks or physical charm to make up for his otherwise total lack of accomplishment. "I've never had any drive," he admitted one night. And clearly had no intention of acquiring any. Old Alex wasn't ready for this level of bullshit. He didn't want to be caught amongst them. These toxic pieces of work brought everyone around them down to their own level; and for a few days he joined them, down amongst their weeping sores and festering hearts, down amongst their too ordinary dreams, their total lack of ambition or ability to see anything beyond their dreary little selves, the escapades of the suburbs. 

He always felt unsafe when there were changes afoot and unknown personnel gathered in the wings.

For great changes were afoot. Let the holidays begin. 

He would crawl across space to get you. And reignite the gods as we all chose to do. 

The wind is blowing hot. Hotter than hot. He had been warned. He didn't care. 

While Sydney, and Australia, crawled to a devastating close of a year in which the most shocking thing of all was the acquiescence of the people, who had queued up to abrogate their freedoms. 

Once again masks proliferated across public transport, state governments and overpaid health bureaucrats grandstanded in front of news cameras and wished them well, wished them dead, those they served. Sowing panic and confusion into the population with a blizzard of constantly changing rules and regulations and unabashed fear mongering.

The most unbelievable thing happened that year: we were expected to believe that a government which clearly did not care about its own citizens, changed the society forever under the cover of Covid and purportedly to protect the elderly.

That's those people they housed in derelict government funded old age facilities and washed them out in appalling conditions, watched them fall off the conveyor belt of life in pain, humiliation and dereliction; because they truly did not care; this government which had been part of privatising old age facilities for the rampant profit of their mates. 

That putrid year. Those putrid people. This truly putrid government. 

Reap What You Sow.

THE BIGGER STORY: 

THE HEADLINES: 

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