THAT DAY

Putin invades Ukraine, declaring it's "not a war" since Ukraine is "not a nation". Enough said.

THAT NIGHT

I'm reading a used book, grubby and water-warped. It's a graphic novel, grim and ugly. A woman wakes up bruised and amnesic in rubble behind a warehouse. What happened? Staggers to the clinic. The doctor finds vaginal bruising and semen. She was raped.

At least I think so. I can't quite be sure, since I can't read this section straight through. Not emotionally unable--physically. The pages are stuck together in spots, as if something sticky spattered it.

Yep. That.

I'm afraid a previous reader found her brutal abduction and rape exciting--such a turn-on, in fact, that he masturbated all over the book.

So now you know my dreams' take on Putin's rape of Ukraine. We're overthinking him! We fell for his own line, his own view of himself, that he's a cool, controlled, cunning spymaster, playing the game of empire like chess. Is he? Or is he a vain, reckless, delusional sadist looking for a wargasm?

Ridiculous. No great power would follow a blustering fool like that.

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