'Tis but a world to love, madame.xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

One can almost imagine the possibility of a simple aesthetic appreciation of the dirty hand-sanitizer pump positioned by the entrance to every shop door; or the lazy gaze from a cafe window over a crowd of masked people shuffling through the streets, each one fearful of what the other might carry within them; or the depressive enforced sequester in the dim light of a laptop screen, isolated from friends and family, contemplating suicide.

Liberals seems to be able to redirect their intellectual interest to anything. And why not, the world as it is now presents little in the way of actual problem for their type of lifestyle. Like a rainy-day that authorizes you to do nothing, which makes the nothing you would have been doing anyway enjoyable, years upon years of COVID lockdowns and quarantine present their own forms of undeniable delight.

As we prepare now to enter into the Omicron wave, there is a marked effort to present the certainty of what's to come now not as a matter of debate any longer, but the simple fact of a changed existence. Sure, you will be injected with a substance you do not want in your body, that poses health risks all its own. You will be forced to carry around your new COVID identity card, flashing it casually to every masked eye that wants to pry. Or, steadfast in your refusal, walk aimlessly the blown desert landscape of exclusion.

And perhaps one day, a thousand years in the future, the beings that arrive to this planet looking for safety from their dying sun will, there among the mountains of blue disposable masks, landfills full of discarded syringes, barbed wire fences surrounding glimmering towers of dark windows and doors, find the world's last living inhabitant, there in the half-light of an ancient technology, pondering just what in the hell was he talking about.