The world is a slow-methodical GIF loop that suffers from nasty jolts. The map is artifice; an illusion of safety that tempts the tyrants to remake boundaries. 

We spent two years social-distancing, at home hovering under flattened time and held together by screens of electronic bondage only to get invited to the worst party in our lives: war, the maw of nature. As if we needed a further test of our aliveness.

Mark Twain said, “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.”

History teaches man to make new mistakes, even in the face of those horrific blunders stuck in living memory. Despite rotting like rope bridges, the past teems with patient anticipation and waits its turn to be recycled. 

There’s no such thing as too much peace. Neither is there never enough action to preserve it. The hegemon(s) keeps the international order at bay. Therefore, the bully’s goal is to test his most principled opponents through scaremongering tactics designed to undermine the status quo. 

The itch to spread one’s tentacles adds further piquancy when scratched. 

The war of words gives shape to a doctrine of aggression while amygdalas fire on all cylinders. Unperturbed, the dog marks ground in every nook and cranny — whatever it takes to feel safe. 

The imperialist demands control of the stage. Everyone else is a puppet, his own cronies — lemmings — learning to climb the ladder into dark skies. To be sure, the aggressor throws their body into participation with no fear of consequences.

War reduces people to their basest instincts; it also wipes the slate clean and restarts the most ‘august imagination.’ 

But attrition defeats the short-war delusion of the aggressors. Peace stands a chance, as hope grinds out murmurs of memory and perception that fend off ruin and help build more robust operating systems.