April's fool
Every year, bros here would post April's fool pranks on April 1. This year the reality is so surreal that no prank seems funny anymore. Our lives are so sad that it's starting to be funny.
The government suddenly announced that massage parlours and nightclubs are closed down for 14 days. If this doesn't sound like a joke, then this is: Hours later, it backtracked, just like it did after announcing the selling of alcohol in bars and restaurants will be banned. It seems that Carrie Lam has a secret hatred towards nightlife but doesn't want to show it. Psychoanalysts please submit your hypothesis here (her dad was an alcoholic?). Even after the virus's gone these restrictions will stay. There is always a possibility that it will come back. There is always a possibility that another virus might come. Soon, people will forget about the reason for these restrictions. The restrictions will exist for their own sake. That will be the end of humanity.
This virus is systematically demolishing our concept of joy. I crave human touches. I crave the warmth of another person's body, the wetness of her lips and the softness of her tongue. All I want is one kiss. Or a hug that is long enough to feel the contour of her chest. Or a small talk that is close enough to smell her scent behind her ear. Instead, we are imprisoned in this comical hell where fresh air is dangerous and everyone is hidden behind their face masks.
I want to feel the texture of a woman's nipple with my lips. I want to slide my cheek over her breast. No word can describe this texture. No Zoom meeting can reproduce this feeling. No porn can give me the same sensation.
This virus is replacing everything real by everything "virtual". Zoom is evil. Netflix is evil. I don't want online things. I don't want images on my computer screen. I don't want internet porn. I want to feel the breath of a real person's breath on my shoulder. Her skin against mine. Anyone can do. Maybe even a man would do.
Sex industry is dead. Intimacy is dead. This forum is dead. Years later, the next generation will talk about us and the era that will be known as pre-COVID, just like pre-war, when people still trusted each other enough to have sex, to have fun. An era when we bitched to each other on the tiniest things we wrote in our reports, when we flocked to a brothel to kiss our favourite girl's toe.
Soul without body; we are all ghosts. | |
