On being Putin

Dictators must have control. It’s what they desperately need.

The need for control grows in their lives, like weeds left to themselves.

The roots are rampant and unrestrained.

It’s all about control; control of everything.

It’s all about the eradication of the unknown or surprising. Delight is also a casualty.

They must control the finances; so necessary collusion with financiers.

They must control decision-making; so subjugation of any parliament.

They must control thought and opinion; so complete control of the press.

They must control behaviour; so complete control of secret services and police.

Family, if there is any, will have to obey the same rules.

And here is the wretched little expression of humanity that is Vladimir Putin.

And in this sunless world, this airless world, there will not be a single flower of unknowing.

Not one.

We’ll not wonder, for now, what put this pathology inside him. That’s a dark story for another time.

But at least let the sick man lead me to health.

In protest at this incarnation of shittery, alongside the placard, I will clear my own soil of the need for control.

Really clear it; and this will include manipulative behaviour.

And in the lovely space created, in protest, I will plant a flower of unknowing; maybe more.

Because unlike control, unknowing is OK.

Unknowing is gorgeous.

Unknowing will take me home.

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