Sexual Healing....

Pas de Masques....

Baby, I got sick this mornin'

A sea was stormin' inside of me

Baby, I think I'm capsizin'

The waves are risin' and risin'

We have much to lament, I guess, but also much for which we should be grateful....

And the rest of the men which were not killed by these plagues yet repented not of the works of their hands, that they should not worship devils, and idols of gold, and silver, and brass, and stone, and of wood: which neither can see, nor hear, nor walk:

Revelations 9:20

The time is out of joint..... 

In Ostend, I dance to the music of time at Anglo-Belgian painter James Ensor (and the his friends of the Cercle Cœcilia)'s masquerade the Bal du Rat Mort, which was initiated in 1898 after cheesy trips to Montmartre....

James Ensor: Masks Watching a Turtle, 1894

Ensor had a thing about masks, but, as above, is it the mask, or the person wearing it, that does the watching?  In Brussels, for a moment, I think Dumbnik Kummins is watching over me, swinging high on a wall (if only).....  His wooden face devoid of humanity, maybe full of opiates.

Though the pharmacies here are out of masks, the atmosphere in the Place du Jeu de Bal, in Les Marolles, is more laid back, and plenty of carved wooden masks are available, though this vendor is having a zizz (that's no way to make a living)   

There are people all around.  Some ignore me, pointedly, their fashionable stances ensuring medical metres between us....

Others keep a discreet distance, while they imagine their memoirs, 

While still others immerse themselves in accounts of others.....

And others simply have to talk to others, ignoring my innocent fellowship.....

The streets are full of intrigue, with pretence and suspicion rife....

Indeed, some do make me feel a tad guilty, for stealing their souls....

Some make a show of ignoring my shadow....

While others seem to wonder what I see in their quizzical gazes,

Or gently sympathise with my idle clicking....

The thing is my face is masked, and we are not understanding each other, even though my heart wants to reach out......

Who builds these walls?

Where's the fun gone?

Back in Ostend, at Residence Jane, Number 77 Promenade Albert I, Marvin Gaye sits at his table, composing Sexual Healing.

Ah, maybe I am wrong.....  he did that in 1982.  

A couple of doors down, at the Taverne Floride, I drink Leffe, as he did, and think that in this time of pandemic, maybe his formula wasn't wrong.....

Though sadly it didn't stop his preacher father shooting him.  Twice.  Once in the heart and once in the shoulder.

No wonder the angels are crying....

And the windows are full of masked ghosts....

Pas de masques.....

Please

And when I get that feeling

I want sexual healing

Sexual healing is good for me

Makes me feel so fine, it's such a rush

Helps to relieve the mind, and it's good for us

Sexual Healing

David Ritz / Marvin Gaye / Odell Brown

James Ensor: Death and the Masks, 1867

What's Going On?