Last night I had a most perplexing dream.  It was intriguing because of its uncommon verisimilitude. Indeed so entrancing was the sensation that I was grateful upon realizing its dream state and slowly recovering from the experience.  As with so many of these hallucinations I can recall only sketchy detail.  The tale is notable for its colour; namely, dark green, shadows. There were cobblestone walkways and narrow alleys.  And drizzling rain. The  object of the fantasy has naturally either evaporated into the night or was never a recognizable feature. The dream was governed more by foreboding than calculated purpose. What lingered was the indisputable contest with people whom I seemed to know. There were strong reactions on both sides; and when the argument was over, others joined me in recounting the contest and uniting in agreement. It did however leave a sense of division and isolation, partly welcome by the default of having removed oneself from perpetual angst; partly worrisome by the paradoxical punishment of withdrawal.

This is hardly a vitalizing way to begin the celebration of New Year’s Eve. For the moment at least I have succeeded to tranquillize the demons by listening to Billie Holiday sing “P.S. I Love You” always an assured comfort. And there was the ritual of breakfast – crispy, browned bagel, creamy Brie and homemade apple sauce. My one cup of espresso will be my last for the day, part of my latest transition from additives including the deprivation of fresh squeezed exotic juices and THC. We’ve experimented with them all, CBDs, hemp, and years ago alcohol and tobacco about which we occasionally quip with fond memories of sitting by the fire sipping a frozen martini, reading Jane Austen and munching on oysters. Regrettably I am anchored to Tylenol for arthritic relief. The monotony of its consumption is itself exhausting. My day is timed in thirds beginning at midnight, intercepted by medicinal drugs upon awakening and upon retiring. It is however the least demonstrable part of aging about which parenthetically I have no remorse. Life owes me nothing, absolutely nothing. Mine is but a history of benefit and luck. I long ago surpassed the broken link. And the bowl has been repaired with covering mends of gold.

Our agenda today – a prescription we both announced with acute determination at the outset – is no more grand or complicated than the collection of our New Year’s Eve meal from Loom Bistro late this afternoon. We further intend to punctuate breakfast and dinner with a short walk down the nearby hill adjacent the snowy fields whence at night we have so often heard the howls of foxes.

Reportedly Nero of Mar-a- Logo has plans to entertain guests this evening – though the object of merrymaking (not to mention the convention itself) is questionable. There is clearly strength in the retail of deep state theories, fake news and far right conspiracies resembling a James Bond fabrication. The need for stimulation survives defeat. I am disheartened by the underlying spiritual devotion which has as always contaminated the less toxic and more critical legal process. The obfuscations of Henry VIII spring to mind.

The conspiracy theory (QAnon) has been widely characterized as “baseless” and “evidence-free”. Its proponents have been called “a deranged conspiracy cult” and “some of the Internet’s most outré Trump fans”. It is disseminated mainly by supporters of Trump, who refer to the Stormand the Great Awakening—QAnon’s precepts and vocabulary are closely related to the religious concepts of millenarianism and apocalypticism,leading it to be sometimes construed as an emerging religious movement. QAnon’s adherents, while seeing Trump as a flawed Christian, also view him as a messiah sent by God.

Meanwhile hoi polloi are confined to their own reality seasoned as it is no doubt by its metaphorical ignorance of Greek and Latin. The division and argument continues in real life conflicted by need and greed.