The endless lockdown is making people long for things to get back to normal, to the way things used to be. Their sense of the future, of hope for themselves & their careers is cloudy. Before the pandemic their futures were relatively clear – career opportunities were promising but now that new office is whichever corner of your apartment are you going to work from home in.
One friend misses his coworkers presence – not that he misses them as people but he enjoyed being part of a team with whom he had casual physical interaction. Working at home you are your own annoying coworker – there is no one to shrug to after a phone exchange with a client. He can’t remember when he last wore a shirt & tie. His job is secure but he doesn’t feel he has a real future if it is going to be spent in his apartment all day & night. His solution is to look for a new apartment to be trapped in.
I’ve been inputting things out of my writing archive – some pieces going back to high-school, some from the mid-70’s before I moved to Toronto, before I ‘came out.’ As I reread these pieces I try to sense my frame of mind at that time, try to sense what I thought my future would be & how this writing figured into that future. With my fiction I dreamed of being a gay Stephen King at times.
Stranded in the east coast I really didn’t have a vision of the future until I escaped in the late 70’s. But at least I sensed there would be a future that would be an extension of the comfortable present of the times. Now my friends are facing a future that isn’t as comforting, comfortable or secure. Anxiety has replaced hope. No matter how fashionable masks become the reason for them remains.
Incontrovertible
it’s all open to interpretation
no fact is provable
the side you aren’t on
views that suits the truth you feel
is the most suitable to your purposes
<>
no image tells all there is to tell
it’s all in the lighting
viewed often enough
everything changes
was that a head bounce off the ground
or an attempt to get up
was that a punch back
or a hand up to block a punch
was he asking for it
was that a look of distain
depends on the camera angle
the time of day
the race of the looker
<>
what other news feeds do we have
who decides what the news is
which aspect of the truth to report
can we deny what we broadcast yesterday
why not
who remembers yesterday’s news
the past is fiction
there is no truth too incontrovertible
that it can’t be recast
to something more dire
more trivial
which truth will get the most viewers
which is truly entertaining
which is merely information
does it matter if it factual
one study says yes
the other says no
<>
the methodology of studies
cast the questions
so there is no one answer
to what is being asking
but one answer is all you are allowed
yes no
<>
do your believe your eyes
your ears
what you read in the paper
is it real until it’s been on TV
until someone has been interviewed
do we wait till the the 11 o’clock news
to know what is going on
is it safe to go outside
<>
we are an endangered species
drowning in a sludge of facts and data
that tell us nothing
but fill us with fear or indifference
it may not matter
what side of the bed you get up on
you haven’t actually sept
that was all in your mind
maybe because there is only your word
you slept
that night cam footage could be faked
do you remember sleeping
you didn’t use the can
that wasn’t your piss
splashing in the bowl
all in your imagination
you have no grasp on reality
<>
when nothing is real
nothing can be proved
the past is revisionism
the futures can’t be photographed
so it doesn’t exist
then again
neither do you
you aren’t real
just a demographic
irrelevant and unbroadcast
TOpoet 
Your poem today says it all. 👍♥️