War, did you say? … but I’m having lycanthrope withdraw … or, WHAT, NO DYLAN O’BRIEN TONIGHT?

Well, I survived Monday night without a new TEEN WOLF on MTV.

Greeks & Greek LoveI know. I’m a cliché. But my devotion to these ephebes is nearly ascelpiun (that is more commonly “aesculapian” – but that’s Roman, and my yearning is TOTALLY Greek, my friends) and – in particular – Dylan O’Brien, who plays Stiles. Yes. I know. He only just turned 22, and I have turned – well, let’s not talk about my recent de-aging – that’s what fantasy is about people. This is why I am reading James Davidson’s “The Greeks and Greek Love: A Bold New Exploration of the Ancient World” (Click here for a review from Slate, CAVEAT – it’s from 2009, so some of its zeitgeist-ian info is outdated). Sometimes – often – the cultural bias in which we are all drowning closes off too many doors, creates too much tension, distracts us to such a degree that – well, wait.

Not today.

I cannot bring myself to snark and ruminate on those topics I’d planned; so, the accusations of misogynist bias and cant in the criticisms of Miley Cyrus at the VMAs will have to wait (except to note that while some of it was that, indeed, I wrote an almost identical critique of Bieber of late, and thus, I feel my feminist cred is unassailable – but all you SEX-FEAR-ers out there, watch out when I get around to this topic); and too, on hold, the spate of essays and articles discussing the pathologization of almost EVERY mood other than “Happy” (CLICK HERE) – and the sub-text of this movement: it is being encouraged and funded by investments from multinational drug corporations that they might turn everyone into a junkie by the age of likely to be diagnosed ADD-HD ten or eleven. And too, let us not forget the continued screwing of the average person by the elite, rich and ever more powerful ruling class, evidenced by the increasingly inequitable distribution of wealth in the world (CLICK HERE).

All worthy and important topics on which I’ve a lot to say. However. They pale. In comparison to: Syria. Egypt. Chemical Weapons, War. Drones.

What the hell?

A strike on Syria is likely to come within the next few days. Read here. But, there is no good option in Syria – probably none of the “solutions” likely to be chosen will do much good (READ HERE) – and all of the options involve killing and choosing sides among “sides” who have behaved despicably; sides, I might add, all of which have been partially funded by – and, in many ways, created and encouraged by the United States CIA. I mean – what in the world sort of world have we made?

And, if I am a part of that “we” – what can I do – actually DO – today – in my REAL LIFE – to somehow fix this?

I am, usually and determinedly, shallow. I have spent a great deal of life-energy disconnecting myself from a culture – the norms and assumptions of which – hold very little interest for me; I consider myself well on my way to being above the fray and out of the rat race and off the treadmill of that ridiculous quest to belong to the “successful” – I like to think I have seen what a sham this is, what a carrot in front of the never going to get there horse kind of world we live in – a world where we are all seen – truly – as just so much future glue –

But now, this Egypt and Syria thing; on the heels of the release and non-responsibility bestowed upon Trayvon Martin’s murderer; and the ongoing “far right” demonization of gays and minorities; and – all the rest. Oh, all the rest … it is exhausting me.

And I want to be in a place – in a state of mind and heart – where I can make jokes about “Teen Wolf” and go Greek on Dylan O’Brien and other 22 year olds for whom I lust – but, soon, if we go on this way, those 22 year olds are going to be off killing one another – for what?

FOR WHAT? AND WHAT CAN I DO? I’ll tell you – and this is definitely TMI – but, in the past few years I have come to see every relationship and define every connection by measuring what its loss will do to me; all my love, all my connection now is about anticipation of its inevitable end; how long will you last? What are you worth? Ten minutes and without a name? Two hours and an alias? A weekend and … or, a few years and then the breakdown born of having trusted and believed again or …

And so, this new coverage in which everyone seems to agree that more people must die and even with that, there is no good answer or outcome – HOW DID WE COME TO THIS? As usual, when I need to self comfort, I turn to musical theatre. From Andrew Lippa’s “THE WILD PARTY”, here is the inimitable, unbeatable, glorious, Julia Murney, singing, “How Did We Come to This?”

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