Not Another Epidemiologist on My Screen

The global pandemic has exhausted me, and I suspect I am not alone on this score. If I see another daily press conference featuring a Premier or PM I just might scream. If I was not so dead set against guns and violence, I might just do something desperate. Perhaps I could adapt the concept to my principles and attack a bush with a water pistol or something equally insane. Please oh please not another epidemiologist on my screen, as much as they are doing fine work for the community I must look away.

ABBA & the Soul of Humanity in the Time of a Pandemic

Do I have it in me? The echo of a new ABBA song jingles through my consciousness. We are in this together. Human beings on the edge locked inside their living rooms. A call to hope is on the lips of every bonafide popstar. Modern technology can take the festival moment into quiet sitting rooms in suburbia. Too many scientists on my screens has left me cold in my darkest hour. Not another epidemiologist on my screen without recall to the human heart and its irrational leanings. Yes, they are doing a great job of protecting us and I thank them for their service. But I crave an understanding humanist with a solid grounding in historicity.

I Still Have Faith In You

I still have faith in you. It sounds like a murmured endearment within a long-term relationship. One that has lasted through the ages. It has more wrinkles in time than an elephant. Is it, perhaps, my relationship with myself as I climb toward the end of this mortal coil? Love beats within me for the human condition despite the doom and gloom of this pandemic. Just not another epidemiologist on my screen, please. A song inside my head and heart to dispel the doubts and darkness is what I clearly need.

Give Me a Humanist Anytime

Looking now at the aged faces of the band called ABBA it is a Swedish reckoning and none too glum. Foot tapping stuff for the simple Homo sapiens, who is all too unsuited for concepts like deep time. We are ephemeral creatures buzzing about this planet’s garden and consciousness is a trick of a memory we take all too seriously. Remember that the bus is going to the terminus and to enjoy the ride. Thank the scientist for her considered knowledge and time but beware of his cold hands. Give me a humanist with an appreciation of history anytime over a politician in suit with their epidemiologist.

©Midas Word