Covid Post Update 2: 2022

Written late 2020, early 2021

wantuing done with this

Can't bee buttered. This is not a drill bit.
This is just a tribute to the cornucopius cobbin' cough.
focusing on bloc poverty
An autistic re-territorialisation.

Sometimes it seems like dust, grime and detritus stalks me. Hounds me, envelops my auric field, and settles on every available surface and in every nook and cranny, even the ones you don't know exist until a pungent odour invites exploration. Even if it is the case that I am not all surface, it seems as though surface shoves itself in my face at any and every opportunity.
Put a book on a shelf and in a couple of days one needs to swipe a film of powder to make out the title. And generally that title is related to filth in some way, or the cleaning or cleansing of filth.   

Everything needs a covering. A square of microfibre cloth tucked away in a back pocket, ever ready for the twice-daily dusting. 
Even our respiratory orifices need covering these days. Always vigilant, we must shield our airways from intrusion by microbial vectors of disease and decay. Covered for Covid, we are all the time on guard. We must leave a distance between bodies, clearing our throats in the crick of our arm folds if we are so bold to do so at all in public. There is even less touching, and hugs where once not long ago we could acquire for free, are now a scarce commodity that packs a hefty price.
Scared, confused, and lethargic from sequestered breathing, there seems to be less room for intimacy than ever before. Now intimacy is intrinsically wrapped up in fears of spreading germs, cooties, and physical sensuality is all the more demonised as being probably harmful if not biologically then psycho-traumatically.

The shrinkage of space, a dipping of being in icier waters, comes alongside the contraction of time. Like a penis shrivelling in frigid conditions, there is an inherent shame involved. Part of this shame is a denial of the phenomenon, or a quick covering over. However while time and space have shrunk, humans have not had the space nor time to prepare and thus lag behind the change, still having their societies organised around a relatively more leisurely pace. Panic, fear and shame is all too palpable, so we pack it in, we withdraw, recoiling like a shrunk dick and just as pathetic. We know something is wrong but to acknowledge it is like acknowledging a dirty family secret, kept hushed between parent and child.

There are those who will try and see the positives in this rather stark difference, but the positives can only come about with the affirmation that things have changed and this should be a motivating factor in adjusting our social production accordingly.
Instead we are still in the former mode, clinging to dear life, as though this could be any way of living going forward. We still desire our repression, and this may be why the difference in the first instance.

But now things are different again. Covid is upon us and we have bigger more immediate concerns to dwell on, thank God. No longer is it our concerns are of literal smaller scale, we have a new distraction from the shrinkage, a new covering alongside the relentlessly necessary news coverage. We're covered for Covid, and its just as well because otherwise we might have gone collectively mad with the prospect that social production must slow down and take stock. Now things move uncomfortably fast and there is fewer stock to take, a more pleasing scenario has emerged where it is no longer a collective ill to consider, but ill individuals who continually make it hard on the rest of us.

"My time is not my own. My body is not my own. My timeshared being is not my own." - Dividual Divulged

As much as one may wish to cling to the fetish object, its foolhardy to attach so adherently to any thing or even any person, self or otherwise. The Eastern philosophers' renouncing of material attachments is correct, but not simply in the sense that one needs to eschew the material attachments for some transcendent beyond to replace it with. Nor is it the case that we should renounce all attachment and simply float about in the void. There's something else to linger on, something else to circulate which isn't material object, subject, void, etc. It is on the level of desire, but it isn't desire in itself either.

💨Memories well up of precognitive anticipations, premonitionary reveries which seem to suggest the present moment of its particular circumstance of conditions, was already in the minds eye in our past, but a fact only perceptible from the vantage point of becoming-to these present conditions. It is hard here to say whether this precognition is only here retroactively, only an illusion of precognition brought on by some trick of memory, or whether there actually was some chunks of the future unconsciously accessible in our real past.