I don’t want to be the one to write an article with this title, then again, I never wanted to be a fucking politician or a soldier or anything other than an inventor or comedian. Perhaps, that’s why I ended up an artist.
Who better to write an essay titled “The Twists of War” than an individual who has never seen a day of combat in their life, yet can write about a clown they never knew well enough to shed a tear for.
The disturbing imagery of a dying clown, wounded under a lamppost by a Bay, need not remind you of soldiers trapped in the trenches of mortal combat nor human remains turned to ash and smoke, yet, they die alone, for you.
The motivations of a warrior in battle, the ambitions of a clown, the grief of a people – yet not a word of the human tendency to fight in the first place.
The Bhagavad Gita depicts war as if it were an essential aspect of human life, the responsibility for which is bestowed upon us by greater entities than us, yet, for whom is war an everyday part of life?
One might imagine a U.S. soldier, for example, who enlists upon the legal age to do so, committing their life to protect and serve their country. For that person, indeed, war is an everyday part of their life – but for how long?
How different is the remainder of one’s life who has committed themselves to a higher duty once their time is up? Can it ever be?
Will it ever be?
I know I grew up believing.