My God, I have never, ever been in such a hurry to write and it is a damn good thing I was forced to take typing in the seventh grade. Ever since I started this writing thing, I have claimed to own a style I named, ZenGonzo. It involves Hunter S. Thompson and the Buddha and I simply don’t have the time to give it backstory. Let’s just say, it’s a cross between reckless spontaneity and perfect mindfulness, OK?
A bit earlier in the day, I was thinking how I’d feel if I was a famous artist, regardless of medium. This came up for me, because I am wrecked by what is happening in Ukraine. I have been reading about it for the past week and I can’t seem to make any sense of it. I am not talking about the politics, because I don’t give a shit about that sleight of hand. I think about Ukraine and what has been shoved up their butts, without even bending over. Out of nowhere, they’ve been subjected to a kind of brutality, absent any justification, as if there would ever be any.
I was just sitting by myself at the end of a day’s work and wondering what I’d do this evening. Thursday night is one of those unscheduled times, when I have nothing whatsoever to do. Now, like George Carlin’s wonderful routine on Stuff, there ought to be a companion to this burdensome way of being. I have worked at simplifying my life over the decades, certainly in relation to Stuff. I am also not busy, something that has seemingly always been a part of my life. When I was a new Dad, with two, little boys, a home on a Long island and a marriage absent connection, I was a kind of busy guy. I was also quite unhappy.
Please forgive me when I say this, but artists must have time to talk to themselves and decide what’s next. The request for forgiveness is hoping you don’t give me the finger, when I refer to myself as an artist, because I am. I think there is a kind of audacity about it, but tough shit.
So, there I am, sitting on a picnic table, wedged in between several other planked, beached wood whales. It is a place at the brewery where I find some respite from the events of day, which I shouldn’t really give a shit about, but I do. I was sipping what I refer to as a mini-Marg. It is a pre-mixed margarita and a very good one that usually caps off the end of my day.
Like many of you, I have been following the abortion of freedom, a scalpel in the hands of an unlicensed human being. Well, hell, it’s Thursday and I should just go home, slip into my flannel night shirt, pour my first, rationed dose of cheap red wine, “fool” Alexa into shuffling my Pandora stations and peruse the news, yet again.
Then, I had this Rain Man, ruptured moment. Bearing silent witness to what is happening in Ukraine, feels like watching a lynching and then just going home, doing what I have always done, every Thursday.
This morning, I had this sincere, teddy bear moment. What could Ukrainians have done to warrant such bestial mistreatment? Why would anyone want to inflict this kind of suffering on so many? This kind of ruthlessness has never made sense to me. What the fuck is the prize that is worth so much life? When you win, what have you won?
So, I rushed home this afternoon and knew for certain, millions of my supporters were waiting to hear my words of wisdom. It is no different than wanting to know what Matthew McConaughey thinks about Texas politics. Alright, before you think I am even close to serious, let it go, please.
You know, it applies to our country, as well as the Russians. What is the true purpose of violence? Is it a means to an end or simply an end in itself? So, I am home, having done the various Rain Man tasks, before sitting down with you.
I simply couldn’t let this Thursday go by without trying to get your attention. I don’t know how this horror show is going to end in Ukraine. I simply don’t know how to make sense of it. What is the reason to cause such inhumane suffering on other human beings?
I am going to lay a dirty word on you and it is FREEDOM. I honestly don’t know why that is the case and always has been. Listen, nobody reads my shit or listens to my podcasts and that is not the point of wrecking my Thursday. I tried to think about someone telling me I can’t go home, get in my ugly, flannel shirt, listen to my music and write about my feelings.
I don’t know why doing what I feel like doing should ever be a big deal. I don’t know why i can’t love the history of my culture. I don’t know why freedom is even a word, having to define what it isn’t.
I know, I know, I never write two stories in one week, but Judge Wapner was on everyday and Rain Man couldn’t wait. Jesus, we’ve been through the insanity of Covid and just when you are ready to exhale and no longer look over your shoulder, the Ukraine explodes in your face.
This conflagration is not going to have a happy ending, which is now impossible. So, here I am, an incredibly unknown artist, thinking his opinion of the disaster in Ukraine is worth sharing.
Those of you, who pretend to know their shit, I can’t leave with you some inspiring close. I got none. I am just praying. I just don’t understand how unimaginable suffering is for some purpose.
God Bless.