I haven’t forgotten about Roe vs. Wade being struck down.
I don’t share Jeff’s optimism about and relish in anticipation of the downfall of Clarence Thomas.
I’m unmoved by the revelation that were it not for Trump’s secret service agents telling him that the situation at the Capitol would not allow him to be conveyed there, he would have stood in front of a very well armed crowd, a crowd for whom he had previously turned off the magnetometers for his speech at the Ellipse, and turned them loose on downtown Washington, probably starting a bloody insurrection that would have gone on for days while the world watched in horror. We all knew what he was capable of, from the fountain of bilious spite that seems to be the only motivating factor, besides a nearly impervious vanity, in his personal arsenal.
I will be moved when I learn what Putin had on him. I likely never will, but the body language doesn’t lie.
I haven’t forgotten about Putin, pressing the ‘you don’t know if this is the day I nuke London’ button over and over again through the mouthpieces of those still depraved, meretricious and sycophantic enough to sit upright and talk under tv lights. I haven’t forgotten about the dead in a shopping mall, the shore boats with small cannons that are coming from one country, the shoulder mounted rockets from another, the three D printed field tourniquets (they’ve already saved lives and the Russians are stealing them, theirs are shit) from private citizens; the pencils and markers and paper for schoolkids. The Ukrainian forces are exhausted. Wave after wave of Siberian kids who may not even have indoor plumbing at home are being thrown at what are now some of the fiercest house to house fighters, kilo for kilo, in the world, but they’re tired and sometimes the reservists who’ve been called up are fighting kids young enough to be their grandchildren. In fact before the war is over I’m expecting to find a grandson and a grandchild face to face in this conflict. The Russians too are sending 50 year old reservists into battle. It’s a shit war. He ran through his youngest tropps too fast, through his autocratic contempt for them in his scheme for glory. It is NOT ‘the brother’s war’ and to call it a civil war would be to stomp on Ukraine’s self-determination and to feed yourself lies about Russia’s territorial demands. But it is a war between people who know each other, the direct consequence of the longings for Empire restored in Putin’s policies, and the fucking oligarchs who either ran away when shit got hard or followed him hoping for a payday.
I haven’t forgotten that the convoyancers are restarting their national tour. Lich has been rearrested for as far as anyone feels comfortable reporting, breach of bail conditions. Stay off social media? LOL. Unless you’re impounding her phone and serving public notice to the telecom companies that she can’t have another one for the duration, bes’ uv Bri’ish luck wi’ ‘at. Senior members of parliament (the Conservative side of the house be scuffing their loafers and avoiding comment) have warned Canadians not to become complacent about abortion rights; stuff that happens in the US can happen here and we’re fools not to pay attention.
I haven’t forgotten about my grandsons, who thrive, or my children who appear to be doing satisfactorily. Nor about my wide skein of acquaintances, family members and friends who suffer from cancer, or loneliness, or depression, or lack of work, or excess of work, but mostly from the terrible grinding dailiness of the bad news, when they’re supposed to be holding down ‘all that’ a household, a family, a routine, two squares a day, gardening, maintaining family and social contacts, navigating the minefield of contemporary politics.
I haven’t forgotten about how all of the pleasures I enjoy are balanced on a knife edge. But the landlord just came for the next three months’ cheques, so I doubt we’ll be going anywhere until September, and that has settled my mind just a small tad. Thank you to the founders of that particular feast.
