He was drifting deliberately, in a kind of hypnagogic state where he attempted to control the delirium in the hope that explanations of his state of mind might make sense in a world where pandemic messages flew over his head and landed on distant and foreign individuals. His grasp of social isolation lies not in discomfort but in embracement, his desire for community was twisted into strands of what-ifs…pre-pandemic…and his way out of the despair was to invent gratitude and display it as the farce and sound bite it had become. The need to document the trivialities of this era would be left to the participants climbing social media ladders as they cast their perforated nets on to diverse crowds who looked for simple truths during exhausting times. Waking up from this would see the carnival tents unfold and fashionable rides resurge, while the fringes stagnated and staggered to the finish line amidst announcements that the worst was over.

Jolted out of his dreamlike state, the translucent man was mesmerized by Little Mr. Deakins as he ran in circles, kicking up dust and flapping his silly little wings, all this while being observed by a goat standing on top of a woodshed. As Little Mr. Deakins became more animated, the translucent man decided further investigation was required and to that end he got up and found a severely wounded Feather next to the woodshed.


Mrs. B once saw a movie where a cow stood on top of a barn, making this goat standing on the woodshed roof seem sensible. Sensibilities is a walk in a minefield of compromised information, manipulated sincerities and commodified science doled out by mavericks whose love of hate is the contraption that turns the next page. The next page is important to keep chaos clear and continuing, to add to banter and to mimic the right of free speech. I think they call it,  the god given right of free speech. Mrs. B saw a lot of god givens in her time on this earth ,from the priestly pedophiles to paganist preachers whose agenda stole the civil out of civilization and attempted to replace it with a bitter stew of contempt and deceit. And it continues to vacillate, liberals & conservatives, democrats & republicans, science & lunacy until the birds in the middle just want to fly skyward to get away from it all.

Mrs. B knew there was no plane large enough, no avifauna fast enough or raptor strong enough to take us away from it all. The all of everyday was the responsibility not to flinch in the face of priestly pedophiles and their ilk and to offer what comforts could be commanded. Feather looked up, knowing she was in good hands.