It took the soberingly mass-event-less summer of 2020, with no EURO 2020, no Glastonbury 50 and no Japanese Olympics to start to cast new news. It took a sad, stress inducing time of ever-changing questioning of our relationships with anything, and with otherness forced upon us to look for “anything-else-but-pandemic” as our news category of choice.
COVID news were shining the brightest, and most of us were basking in a blissful ignorance to power kegs in Myanmar, Yemen, India, and elsewhere. With regards to seeking escapism, it looked like a the dullest year on calendar.
But that made it a time ripe for re-imagination, with little to wash the movement away with the powerful tidal force of “boring, NEXT!” that journalists wave with much so much ease when the topic failed to meet their editorially enforced aesthetical canons.
The triangle of fire was there with a spark in Minneapolis, the oxygen in our never-so-familiar homes and hundreds of years of disregard, paternalist and sometimes cruel history as the strangling ancient forest with roots so deep and strong that many builders have used them as foundations stones for their structures.
That would be the forest to combust and give a chance to create new grounds we could all stand on.
Maybe the mountain did birth a mouse as the older French people say when the results don’t quite match the expectations. It wasn’t a vaccine to any coronavirus, and the patient population strangely looked like the same one that did appear to suffer the most from COVID-19. New news you said?
But there was, in my opinion, a beautiful alignment of sort. Plainly said, not every flower looks and smells like the mound of fertilizer they grow on.
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