This morning at 3am, I had the strangest dream. A dream so profoundly abstract, that it made Kandinsky’s Transverse Line look like a paint by numbers kit. It was so vigorous in its execution, yet so childish in its conception. Fights broke out behind my sunless eyes, as I lay physically immobile, yet emotionally writhing with internal conflict.
“War” can mean many things to many people, but its subtext always reads “permanent and coercive regret.” (Raises coffee mug) Here’s hoping the soldiers fighting your personal “war” return home safely and unscathed.