Riveting and revolting theater with many characters coming and going from stage right, and many shocking plot points.
INTERVIEW IN THE EAST MEADOW
Our old friend the Jackdaw of Unreason flew in from the west to talk about the new masked society.
He was interviewed by our Central Park correspondent near the East Meadow at Fifth Avenue and 97th Street. The reporter was wearing a mandated face mask.
REPORTER: Welcome Jackdaw, thanks for dropping by — oh, er, I hate to point out the obvious, but you’re not wearing a mask.
JACKDAW: Damn face masks! Do you know how many I’ve been through? Every time I put one on, my beak rips a hole in it.
REPORTER: I can see that would be a problem. Okay, we’ll keep our eyes peeled for the Covid cops.
NO END IN SIGHT
JACKDAW: This mask law is turning society into an episode of The Twilight Zone. Imagine if you will an entire population that must always cover their faces. A guy can’t even meet a girl or a girl meet a guy in a public place anymore because they don’t know what each other looks like. A guy might have nice hair and smiling eyes but a cruel mouth. And vice versa.
REPORTER: Do do see any end to the face mask rule, Jackdaw, and all the other restrictions?
JACKDAW: I do not. I think it’s just going to get worse. Politicians are turning all of society into a miserable unhappy existence of isolation and loneliness — and in many cases, suicide.
REPORTER: You paint a very bleak picture, Jackdaw— Oh-oh, here comes a Covid cop. You could get arrested for not wearing a mask. You better take off.
JACKDAW: On my way. We’ll finish this another time.
The jackdaw flies off. A cop wearing a face shield comes over.
COP: I saw that. That bird wasn’t wearing a mask. You may have been exposed. I’ll have to take you in — you’re going into quarantine.
REPORTER: I’m wearing a mask, for god sake!
COP: Haven’t you heard? You gotta wear a face shield now. The virus can get in through the eyes — aren’t you keeping up on this stuff?
REPORTER: Of course, up to a point, but the eye thing is pushing it. What’s next? Hazmat suits?
COP: You heard, huh? Okay, let’s go.
REPORTER [into cell phone as the cop leads him away]: Hey, chief, tomorrow’s front page — Hazmat suits!
Living the High Life in the Dead Room
American Daze Purple Haze lived alone in a bungalow in Upstate New York with Memories of S. They woke up together, spent the day talking about their life of many years together, shared cocktail hour and went to bed together. This went on for two years.
As the months dragged on American Daze Purple Haze became more and more depressed. One morning he told Memories of S that he was going to look for an apartment in another state and try and rejoin society. Memories of S said that sounded like a good idea, time to move on and all that stuff.
She asked him what state he was moving to and he said New Hampshire because of the liberal gun laws as opposed to New York where you can’t buy a gun to save your life and Memories of S said, I hate guns. Why do you want a gun?
The revolution, said American Daze Purple Haze. Live Free or Die and all that.
Memories of S said straight out, I think you want a gun so you can shoot me.
Are you insane! said American Daze Purple Haze, I would never shoot you, I will love you forever and be with you forever.
Well, let’s not get carried away, said Memories of S. She was not the sentimental type, always practical and down to earth. American Daze Purple Haze was the sentimental one, a dreamer and a romantic.
And then Memories of S asked, Are you going to shoot yourself?
Well, since you mention it, I suppose, said American Daze Purple Haze, when I feel the time is right.
It works out the same, said Memories of S, if you shoot yourself you also kill me, and you said you would never do that.
Hmmm, said American Daze Purple Haze, you always were the logical one.
So what are you going to do, Socrates? asked Memories of S.
American Daze Purple Haze said, Just stay here, I guess, and not buy a gun.
To hell with the revolution, said Memories of S. Look, it’s five o’clock, how about you fix us a couple of cocktails and roll a joint and I’ll meet you in the living room.
You mean the dead room.
American Daze Purple Haze made the drinks and rolled a joint and got back on the not-so-merry merry-go-round.
That is one sad merry-go-round. There’s no one on it.
This blog was like a suddenly abandoned house. I know the owner well — we met in New York City soon after arriving as immigrants to America…