Beyond the point of no return

When the initial covid scare was over, about a year ago, with death rates back to normal and lots of people gearing up for the needless fear trip which has been stifling society ever since, it was easy to stand out. I knew immediately I wasn’t going to wear the mask outdoors. It was too absurd, too childish, or sheepish as we say these days. Who don’t want to show their beautiful smile all around? Wearing a dysfunctional mask simply because someone says so, was beyond me. I just couldn’t do it. Shoot me first, I wasn’t born for that. So I walked the streets of my neighbourhood barefaced, as I always had, and endured the angry and frightened looks of my fellow city dwellers, old, young and children. They told me I was killing them, their eyes I mean, and I wasn’t at all convinced they were wrong. What did I know? I donned the diaper to enter a shop and I turned away from the police patrolling my streets – I’ve come to know a lot more about windows -, but furthermore I pretended nothing was going on, as happened to be in general terms my assessment of the situation. Meanwhile, everybody was clearly going crazy. It was frightening and I wanted to help, but it was too soon. The fear porn was still too exhilarating to most. Let’s all pray for the jab. I struggled through winter, lucky to have found my local speak-easy where life went on behind closed shutters. I was living my useless but needed resistance, because I didn’t know what else to do. Writing was out of the question. I had written all there was to write, I had in fact been warning for everything that was coming to pass in some form or other, there was no point in doing so any longer. To ease my feelings, I learned to play the piano, hoping to create some beauty in the face of all the sadness. It hasn’t been easy for the old fingers but I manage some much-appreciated tunes. Then spring came with a stutter and finally people around me started pulling down the denigrating fibre which had been covering their expressions for a full year. I was so happy for a couple of minutes! It took me that long to realise things were in fact changing in a dangerous way. Despite concerns from once respected doctors and scandalously large numbers of deaths and disabled, ever more people let it be known they’d had the jab and were totally fine with that and they were getting ever younger. Inevitably, I was sent a text message, that I was electable to make an appointment for inoculation. I swiped the call away while driving to work. Next came the voice. When was I planning to drop in? No estoy interesado. A short silence and a pitiful sigh: I may always call if I changed my mind. I don’t think I will, thank you. Putting down my screen, it struck me I had crossed a border. I was in pristine territory. So far, my resistance had been futile, just a reminder for my neighbours another solution was possible if everybody demanded it at once. Now, with my refusal to comply I had entered the realm of the registered rebels. Registered rebel, your life is a mess. I was officially a menace to society. I had never before been a menace to public life. I had fantasized about it in some stories, once how refusing military service (which I had) could be sufficient to get a round-up call in crisis times, yet I have never felt exposed to such an all-powerful adversary for real. They know me by now. The system can crush me any time it wants to, the fact it hasn’t yet is merely proof of my insignificance. They’re too busy injecting at the moment, me and my peers will be dealt with in due course. The only hope I have left is that the whole farce will be exposed and the props fall down before they get to me. Sorry for the obstinacy, reader, but I’ve got a family to protect. I also hope I’m not alone in this. I hope many thinking people feel in their guts something’s not right here and this crazy ride we’re on is leading us like lemmings straight to the precipice. Now we are not lemmings but humans, so many will turn back on time, but an even greater part seems destined not to be around much longer. This is not my favourite thought. I’m 59 years old. I’ve had the easiest of lives imaginable. I grew up in the easiest of times in one of the easiest countries in the world, 1970s Netherland. I had everything going for me and lots of fun messing up myself, if not everybody were seeing the fun of me wasting my life. The nineties helped us straighten ourselves out. You had to work for it but there was easy money for almost everyone. I established myself as a talent whore and managed to live off my pen for the next seventeen years. Once here in Spain, with my business dissolved and nobody interested in my trade, I learned how to teach English to you lot. It has been an amazing experience. New in the wonderful city of Barcelona, so beautiful and vibrant, so cheeky and elegant and full of emotion, I found in my students the environment that taught me how to mingle and be one of the crowd, in short how to find my place. And I believe I have after another 15 years. You see, I have 32 years of economic independence behind my back. I have never had a full-time contract in my working life. I’ve been on a zero hour contract for some years now is all. I have never earned much. There were a few smash hits in my previous profession – teaching doesn’t allow for spectacular successes – but over all I have covered my needs without ever pitching on an existing relationship. I am satisfied with that. Whenever the covid passport is required to keep moving around, I feel I can leave the labour realm without remorse. The question, though, is, what comes next? I guess I have little choice but to keep struggling till the end. I wonder if I’ll be sacrificed before those injections’ devastating effects set in. Because many people will get very sick, they are programmed to be. I really don’t get this, even less than masks. Why on earth would you let your genetic make-up be messed with, like you were some cheap potato? There’s no need for anyone who can reasonably suspect to survive the disease, and that’s most of us. All you do, is create new virus variants which will require new vaccines and so on. You’re on a highway to hell. Stop this madness, please. Not the children! I won’t likely be around to see it end. Want nobody left to tell all about it. They will stick with the virus version, just like those fools who are destined to live a little longer. I once wrote a story on this theme, how an old man who had seen the transition happening tried to keep the truth hidden from his inquisitive granddaughter, available in the hemeroteca of agitadoras. It was done as a play. I reposted it on emptyplaneta.blogspot.es some months ago. Enough whining, now. I am waiting for people to join me in grabbing our last straw this summer and liberate us from the madness, because come autumn come trouble again. We all know this to be true. I hope you will heed these words and take time to learn a bit about the truth and nonsense of alternative insights so you can decide for yourself where you, as an individual, stand. Go to globalresearch.ca and follow names, or find your own strategy. See you mask free on the streets of your town, so we can talk business. And don’t be late.