Calgon, take me away
Russian Warship? Go fuck yourself
Typically, as a fool, I try to stay away from politics.
In the long history of fools, political discourse can be a quick and wonderful way to shed thirty pounds of stupid. That is, speaking out as a clown can be an efficient way for jesters and fools to lose their heads.
And right now? There’s a clown and a tyrant engaged in an epic struggle. The clown wants the right to continue to blunder along attempting to rule a free country. The tyrant wants to cut off the fools head.
As for my head, I’m none too worried about that.
I’m not particularly a fan of war.
But if you took a look at my browsing history, you may suspect otherwise. I’ve been addicted to the terror of war.
It’s essentially the most stupid thing we humans do. The unremarkable foolishness of fighting in wars has been going on as long as there have been stupid people. And there have been dummies since the beginning.
Let’s roll back a bit.
In February 2003, I marched in Toronto. It was a day of laughter and tears and hope that the biggest protest ever - a world wide protest against the illegal American invasion of Iraq - would result in stopping the jackals whose wealth is the direct result of inflicting suffering. To this day GW should be tried as a war criminal.
We plebs, peasants and serfs did not count.
The Yanks went in and found no WMD’s
Shocking! A bunch of profiteering hawks manufactured a war for no reason!
Then Syria. We fundraised and welcomed families into the community.
Now, I can’t stop watching.
It’s too much for my little foolish brain.
Refresh, new notification, ugly stuff, cortisol, repeat!
The clown vs the autocrat, David vs Goliath, Daniel san vs Cobra Kai, Mighty Ducks vs the Hawks - all classic stories that I love.
Unfortunately, in this new narrative, there’s no ‘flying v’ to fix things.
And, Putin’s got nukes.
Up until the fall of the Berlin wall, I was plagued by nightmares about nuclear war. They all ended the same way. Me in a bathrobe with a ratty old golf bag on the roof of my high school. I always ended up accompanied by Hawkeye and BJ from M. A.S.H.
In the dream we’re all wearing off colour bathrobes and drinking martinis. I tee up and hit. As the ball disappears, the nuke hits. There’s a big flash of light. I panic and wake up.
Back then? My heart would be pounding, the sheets of my bed soaked.
Perhaps that was developmentally appropriate.
Though this isn’t happening, we’re not at this time on the verge of nuclear war, this is the first time in a long time that we’ve come this close to that level of conflict between the Yanks and the Ruskies.
The images on my phone are haunting. The dreams are back.
While working and connecting with others, the sinking feeling in my gut goes away.
Connecting with others brings me into the now.
If you are experiencing distress, find someone to connect with in the now.
Connect with things that are real. Each other. Your breath. The warmth of sunshine. A care free pet.
Put the phone down.
Turn off the television.
Notice what is real with someone else.
Delight in being alive.
Remind each other how precious life is.
Let the gratitude for your comfort add light in these uncertain time.
Bring back some old laughs for comfort.
Currently, I’m re-listening to Trevor Noah’s masterful audiobook, “Born A Crime.”
It’s funny, beautiful and fills me with hope.
If the nukes start to fly, that’s beyond you. Might as well put on the old bathrobe, mix up a martini and hit a few golf balls.
And in the mean time, here’s a message to little Vladdy about what to do next:
It’s like the old saying goes:
Russian warship, go fuck yourself