Not That it Matters

China, the brown-field industrial park of the world where vermilion red awnings turn grey within the hour as ministries stacked upon ministries suckle the concrete teats of utopium reactors that fuel the eternal leap forward has, perhaps unsurprisingly, added yet another aerosol to its airborne charge: a so-called ‘novel’ coronavirus.

Woke up feeling sick today.

Can’t remember the last time I felt sick.

Not to sound extravagant, but being sick when I can’t remember the last time I was sick has had the strange effect of making me feel a little more human, which I say ironically, of course. In the last month I’ve hardly left the apartment due to a prolonged detente in my work schedule, so I can’t figure out where I encountered this virus. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting it was made in China. But, it is a cold of some kind, hailing from somewhere in this unrelenting world.

A man said to the universe: “Sir, I exist!”

“However,” replied the universe, “the fact has not created in me a sense of obligation.”

Stephen Crane wrote that bit of dialogue. He also wrote the Red Badge of Courage which  is all about the insignificance of human life. It has to be because throughout his ‘great american novel’ on the Civil War he keeps returning to the sun, describing it as it rises each day over corpse-strewn battlefields like nothing special has happened… “It was surprising that Nature had gone on with her golden process in the midst of so much devilment,” he writes at the end of chapter V.

I haven’t had the urge to write in quite a while but I took some Sudafed for the congestion and, well, here I am.

This morning while remembering the old bottle of Sudafed sitting on the top shelf of my kitchen cupboard, I found myself perking up merely at the thought of ingesting its active ingredient, psuedoephedrine, which is derived from the Ephedra plant–a plant that grows abundantly in the wilds of northern China.

Perhaps China has offered me both the sickness and the cure.

I hope they didn’t build any of their utopium reactors near any fault lines like the Americans did.

Not that it matters.

7 thoughts on “Not That it Matters

  1. Hi A.,

    Mortality. It always seems to be there, yet people are surprised. It only takes a split second to arrive and we know. Yes, it has come. Other times it might take years and then it falls upon us. I hate all that stuff about follow the light and just let go and a better place. I even hate the rage, rage, rage stuff. I’m closer to the animal. Crawling away to a quiet spot seems best. It’s the ultimate personal experience and the absurdists made good hay from that one. Nothing to be done, of course, and if the virus from China gets you, then good luck. Is it painful? Hope not. That is the big one for me. How much pain will be involved? Oh well, fuck it. Someday you will get an email that says Duke is no longer here and you can build a fire and have a drink and count the colored memories that are some kind of a clock. Thanks. Duke P.S. Long time no see.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. This was an exercise in black humour. In order for it to reach next-level efficacy, I need to actually have the new Chinese virus and then, of course, die from it. I really hope you aren’t seriously ill, but if you are, then I wish you a pain-free exit on the velveteen wings of morphine.

      Liked by 2 people

  2. My grandmother would say you have the hicondeflops – a peculiar bug that can hop through walls and travel thousands of miles. And only affects certain people. She had a homemade cure – a salve so smelly that it could drive anything away. I too had a bout of the hicondeflops over the holidays. Truly the universe didn’t care. Feel better soon!

    Liked by 2 people

  3. An obliging Universe, that would be surprising, wouldn’t it? We fill our lives with song and dance, pain and suffering and think that we are something of import. I suppose it’s good to think that—the lie that we live to live. Then again, what does the Universe know of good?

    Liked by 2 people

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