Well here it is, my first blog post of 2023, an occasion for my loyal readers (who’ve come to expect perspicacity’s child to deliver the goods on important days.)
Alright. Ahem. Fuck Vladimir Putin.
I don’t know about you but I feel better.
And the same goes for his North American apologists. We know who they are.
Here’s where I experience one of those Jim Gaffigan sotto voce moments: “can’t he say something positive on the first day of the new year?”
Fuck Putin and Tucker Carlson.
Vladimir Putin, Donald Trump and Kim Jong-Un jump off a cliff. Who wins?
Answer: the world…
Here’s to the US media being true to the story:
Putin is committing genocide against the people of Ukraine.
They’re not currently bombing my house but I’m in this war. They’re not killing my immediate neighbors but I’m grieving and shaking my puny fist. When I plumb the depths of myself I’ve only nursery rhymes and the golden rule. After fifty years of reading great books this is all I have. Baa Baa Blacksheep and Do Unto Others. War scrambles everything. I’m enraged and weeping. Putin long ago perfected warfare against civilians. How do you like your bromides now little man?
Not so long ago I took a train to New York City just to walk around. I’m shocked and winnowed. Walking without a destination. Blind walking. Standing beside a food cart and smelling the chestnuts. I wonder how many others are doing this? Absorbing precious seconds against the backdrop of terror?
Keep believing in life. Keep believing in strangers.
First thing in New York and following in Auden’s footsteps I went into a dive bar. The bartender welcomed me and my guide dog. I drank an Irish lager. The dog had some water. Keep believing in strangers.
Putin puts strangers together who evince the larger goodness of humanity. It’s a shame they must meet while enraged and weeping.