Editor’s Note: Marlow continues his account of the Plague Times in this 32nd installment of his Plague Chronicles account of the course of the Wuhan Flu in his part of the American tapestry. It has been an interesting time, and despite his observation that the virus has run its course, a whole series of downstream issues remain. Schools, for an example, and the lives of children and teachers which our collective Lioness and Speaker of the House swears to protect. It is a curious thing, since the current Goddess of Science has also indicated that the kids will be fine even if exposed to the dread virus. It all is clearly part of something else, which I will attempt to deal with in a short essay later. In the meantime, here is the situation Marlow sees in the streets of his home town. Socotra LLC has announced it’s intention to make the series available as a book shortly. As with his earlier “Four Corners” motorcycle trip around the perimeter of this great nation, it is an invaluable and personal experience set against the vastness of our land and the human scale in which we live.

– Vic

Plague Chronicle Notes — Part XXXII – As it recedes in my rear view mirrors

Obstructing your view — this violation is a $250 traffic law (section 1213) fine in NY state

This marks the 32nd in this numbered title series of notes that began in early April. There were 10 earlier notes that form a prologue that stretched back to the beginning of February. A pause to avoid perseveration and some brief end thoughts now seem appropriate.

Some of my life’s worst mistakes were keepers. I was grateful for all of them, good and bad. They satisfied as learning moments and spurred my creative maladjustments. They in turn allowed me more than a few times to see things about this plague more clearly.

Sorry to say but I was born to live out loud. Being thus high spirited I made many more mistakes. I just couldn’t be narrow-minded or prudent. After having dispensed a fair amount of grumbling, I must admit that I never said or wrote everything that was on my mind. Not sure why I held back.

My many glimpses of this plague did not equal sight or approach insight, but I tried to take notice just the same. The plague was a dark, impenetrable, and uncarved granite stone which held inside it every fear and thought of mankind going back to our very beginning. We hammered, acid washed, chiseled, blasted, cursed it every day to little effect for months. It in turn crushed us mercilessly. Sometimes with our help.

Staying a bit wild of body, mind, and soul at least two hours per day helped me stare at it for hints. It took at times a bit of stupid to stay crazy daily for that long. Fearing I would fall into an abyss or crevasse of permanent madness was an obstacle.

Penning fragments during the plague seemed to render better representations of what I felt than trying for a whole thing or story. They seemed to convey better what I saw than what I was looking at. Their meaning often came much, much later as I edited, recasted, abandoned, deleted or put it all into a madly spinning blender only to pour it out and hit the send button

I never entirely knew. I guessed. I was wrong at times, but I took leap after leap in the dark. Sometimes I landed in a spot of light. We had no control over who lived, who died or who might tell our small stories, should we perish. So I looked around and wrote down for some future teller what I saw and felt and I now marvel at how lucky we are to be alive right now in such a topsy-turvy world. It is just one brief page of the story of mankind’s 10,000 year old war versus plagues.

I am an opinionated old bastard who at times uses words as fighting tools. I am sorry if any if you were nicked as I swung them about. I’ll try harder next time. Well, if there is a next time.

A dirty little secret from W’s and my days during this plague: more than once did we nearly keel over dead from an overdose of satisfaction. I felt for a brief moment somewhat ashamed. It then would quickly pass when I sensed that it was just my old Catholic guilt flaring up after a long period of quiescence

This century is still quite young. Another human plague is ending. Something else must be pending. I can feel it.

There are likely dozens of plagues under construction in Mother Nature’s workshop. We must assume that they’re not yet robust enough to struggle through the birthing process. Like the others during the past 100 years, most of their midwives will most certainly be Asian.

So much of what was written or broadcasted about these times seemed to be based loosely on reality but told through fairy tale fictions or story lines. We as its consumers, wanting to be with it, were treated as willing voyeurs at live peep shows.

I tried hard not to be with it and to remain purposefully out of step.

Our pre-plague life’s luxuries were this invisible wolf’s prey. The plague’s fangs were the vanities and conceits germinated by our soft life successes. When we finally learned this, we knew where the danger was. Resistance proved hard.

Yet we forgot this insight all too quickly, and this predator once again was at our throats.

Until very recently, politicians like magicians did their magic in public view but kept themselves and their effects a matter of mystery. The plague changed that. Irrevocably so in my opinion. No more transient senses of awe, exquisite beauty or intoxicating pleasures; we are left with permanent disruption, dislocation, deformity, and disproportion.

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