I can’t hear a word they’re sayin’
Only the echoes of their expectorate slime
I’m going where the sun keeps shinin’…
Some will recognize a few of the lyrics of the song by Harry Nilsson (Check out the black-back-meets-pasty-faced video presented by “Beat Club” from 1969.) It’s a great song, I merely jest. It’s just that I’m hearing nothing but coughing trauma from the chest. I thought to beat it back by cancelled gatherings, hot tea, and rest. Alas, the beast is back, but not at my behest.
Living through an inchoate mass of changes by people whose plan is to rearrange us into a withered wad of overworked whiners; it’s no wonder I fell back to the realm of coal miners. Everyone around me sounds a similar hack. The flu is among us, watch my flaky health now on a rack to be beaten back with a whack attack.
Too late to ameliorate the shock doc hate of the leaders who abate.