My high school French has served me well. It hasn’t hurt that I’ve known some amazing French people, and of course I mean women.
Oof.
Tell me again why I shouldn’t shine as brightly as I can manage? Stories of Keith Moon or Icarus be damned, I’m flying as close to the sun as I desire, thank you.
These post lockdown, pandemic days are curious. In the weirdest & most apocalyptic connotation of the word.
My generation didn’t go under desks as the little children’s protection against nuclear annihilation. That was our parents’ story, but now?
We were now somehow safe. Somehow.
Until these days, I suppose. Shiva is at work in our lives; nevertheless, our leaders tell us all is safe in their hands.
Liars and thieves the lot of them. We’re in that apocalyptic flick where the main characters have just discovered the president or première minister is of no practical use anymore.
The ones driving our earthly spaceship? They’d rather crash the whole damned thing than admit there’s no-one behind the curtain.
No deux ex machina.
That’d be too easy. Too much of a whitewashed American fairy tale.
We’re living in a Matrix of our own creation, and it’s seemingly a complete and utter failure. There’re no gods, or God even, that seems interested enough to swoop in from somewhere backstage to wrap everything up before the advertisements.
My solution? Help out Shiva and burn it all down in a post structural pyre. World leaders have forgotten the cautionary tale that is our troubled Icarus.
Let’s fly as close to the sun as we can and hope beyond hope that we don’t set the whole ship in flames. Luckily nobody’s listening to the likes of me.
Briller de tous ses feux!
