Post Material
Dear friend,
My heart is pounding from sprinting for the 149 bus down to see Nick at the Shacklewell Arms. I think it’s in Dalston, but he lives in Hackney, and for him, it’s Hackney.
We’re both wrong and right at the same time. That’s the nature of things. Paradox.
My heart has calmed, and the bus smells of chips. People are sitting peacefully, chatting. Lots of us on phones, obviously. I have earbuds in, and we’re in a great pillar of red taillights. The front window is misted up with our breath.
Someone two seats forward to the left has an earpiece with a white flashing light on it. They turned their head as my attention rested for a moment on them. All they would see is some guy typing into his phone.
A kid is upset in the seat behind, but it doesn’t sound serious. He’s protesting the way a toddler will when things aren’t the way they ought to be.
You get used to that though. Then you start tolerating all kinds of insanity.
Someone’s got on the bus with a box of hot fried chicken. The smell conjures up the greasy flesh, the greaseproof paper, and the battery chicken that never saw the light of the sun.
Never settled down to sleep with its community of fellow chickens. Lived and died on a horror movie set.
The window lights up red and green.
At the same time, I get that it’s easy to pretend that doesn’t matter, and even for it not to matter in your world.
I have to get steely-nerved when Maya cooks Thai chicken, but I was glad I had the vegetarian curry Chiara made. The chicken had a greyness to it compared to the energy coming off the veg.
It’s nearly my stop.
What can I say about post-materiality?
There’s no more competition.
Collaboration and community are where it’s at.
And kindness.
And healing.
And a return to sanity, which means peace.
Till tomorrow
Love
Mikey