Our Man In Hiatus – Issue 32


Grubby glasses, a strange and interesting mediator between me and the world.

In summer the same glasses become an entertainment. Specks of dust, seen as an irritant, become stars twinkling in a politically dark firmament.

Grease-marks and sweat-marks become coloured-edged hazes that spark images of nostalgia, wherein time travel is irrationally realised.

Those olden, golden summer days, when parks spoke of innocent and all day adventure, rather than the modern acknowledgement of anxiety about anti-social, cruel and self-indulgent destruction of one another, due to a misguided self-expressive era – particularly the 60s, 70s and 80s particularly.

Then there’s the odd insect mark, if not a wrecked carcass, that offers a contemplative stain of mortality on our thoughts.

Though this hiatus that exists no matter where we are, can be a time of considering our luck. Our luck in being a bourgeois-prole (in work, however temporary and grindingly dull), who can consider how kind our economic social betters are in creating conditions in which we are being groomed for death.

Their kindness affords us the freedom from pain and overcomes any difficulty other than any physical pain encountered in case, or time of passing from this state loosely called living and the other state universally accepted, even by HMRC eventually, as death. The ease of transition is only due to the concerted kindness of the ruling, owner and employer classes.

Just feeling dead is a kind of heaven on earth. We are lucky on a second count. The one that realises we are not ill, infirm or otherwise physically and mentally compromised and thereby too aware of the pain of not being dead.

Though not rose-tinted, the glasses, before cleaning, offer a myriad visual treats as light plays before your very eyes. If particularly greasy, there’s a kaleidoscope of colours and shapes that delay any impulse to clean the glass and see the world in its clarity, its sharp relief – no irony intended – and watercolour definition, charting the varying realities of one’s self and others that come together in fleeting, absurdly beautiful moments.

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