Maybe it’s the Skylar part of me (I hope it is), but I do have this tendency to slow my thoughts and actions to a snail’s pace when it comes to certain levels of change.
Einstein reckoned ability to change was a sign of intelligence, which doesn’t bode well for me recently because change has been happening and I’ve been starting to double down instead of flowing correctly. Which is a new one ~ I’ve always prided myself on my ability to embrace and welcome change, so this last few months has been weird.
Perhaps it’s a symptom of the whole broken-planet thing, the overwhelming injustice of runaway capitalism and feeling both the pain of my poorest friends, and the [equally valid] pain and ignorance of my richest. The stupidity of the balancable equations of humanity. The stupidity of the science-deniers, the inability of the conspiracy theorists to do any real research before they mouth off. The stupidity of the religious arses who clearly haven’t even read the Gospels they so eagerly batter the less privileged with. The world is like Pharisee bingo at the moment, and it’s just a touch tiring. Perhaps it’s the rampant idolisation of dickheads like Bezos and Musk, and the destruction they enable / rely on; pyramids of greed supported on the backs of quietly ignored child labour. Perhaps it’s Rupert Murdoch who’s really annoying me, and the people who choose to read the Sun / Daily Mail, infected by opinion from the fever dreams of some despicable gammon who will literally say any words, in any order, if it means furthering their personal agenda.
Perhaps it’s just all too much for one person’s tiny brain to solve, and perhaps I need to embrace the slowing-down, embrace the closures of my mind’s walls. Let go the desire to solve and have a season of …
a season of …
… a season of tiramisu.
Tiramisu.
Tiramisu is, initially, chocolate in powdered form, so it can enter your bloodstream as fast as possible, sate the cocoa cravings within 2/10ths of a second, then you’re into cream; a calm tsunami soothes your mouth and throat and connects your body to the comfortable sensory peace plateau, ready for the main event. And then the boozy, cakey, liquidy goodness arrives and upsides your brain into the shadowlands, where prancing fairies dowse your thoughts in monosyllabolic haiku chloroform, solving space and time and self and place, all done, all complete, all is chocolate, all is cream, all is booze.
My arm? It is booze. This plate? It is booze. The problems of the world? They are booze. All is tiramisu.
I mean sure, you may be wondering where the next comic is, how the rendering’s going, what to look forward to from the untethered ponderings of Sindy Anna Jones’ slightly ‘differently creative’ labcoat. Well, I’m afraid there’s not really a publishable answer right now.
But there is tiramisu.
Next weekend I will be helping a friend of mine move away from their abusive partner.
And there will be tiramisu.
By the following weekend, I will have solved my issues with my computer(s).
And there will be tiramisu.
The problems of the world are insurmountable, and I cannot fix them alone.
But I can do the next right thing.
And
I
can
eat
fucking
tiramisu.
