I had a Brexit dream...!

I went to bed Friday evening, post-Brexit, feeling deflated, as if I’d lost part of myself somewhere in that divisive referendum.  It was a hot night and as I tossed and turned trying to cede to sleep and failing dismally the same thoughts of doom and gloom kept going round and round in my head, riding a carousel of disaster called the Sinking British Ship, and with each tired revolution my eyes ached more and my heart sank lower.  “The young, the young! What about the young?” was the mournful cry lurching out of the sweaty darkness in a voice that grew weaker with every cry, as if the wailing vocal chords were being sliced through one at a time until they could be heard no more.

Three o’clock, then four, and still my heart sank until I felt the breeze on my face cooling me down.  I was moving, not fast at first, but it was me that was moving through the air I realised, not the air moving over me.  Perhaps I was on my bike.  It seemed plausible.  The rush of air over my face now was strong enough that I couldn’t hear anything else but the roar of wind resistance as I moved through the air at gathering speed.  I reached up and felt for my helmet but it wasn’t there!  Just to be sure I looked down at my feet expecting to see my cycling cleats locked into my machine but instead I saw nothing.

My feet were there; my legs too, as was the constant deafening rush of air filling my ears.  I was moving but I wasn’t on my bike.  I was flying and my feet were brushing clouds of nothingness as I looked around to see where I was to try and gain some perspective.  I seemed to be flying through sheer force of will.  I wanted to, so I was.  If I wanted more speed I just thought it and there it was; a sort of cerebraccelerator.  I wasn’t sure where I was but there was no sense of fear or panic.  There were trees below me now and rolling landscape over which I soared with no effort at all.

I became aware that I was asleep, finally lost in my dreams, the overbearing tiredness of earlier and the feelings of despair were no more; they had been blown away.  I had outstripped them through sheer speed.  I was flying, not like Superman by using my strength against the irresistible force of gravity, but by simply knowing that I could.  I was dreaming and I knew it and anything was possible.

I banked slightly to the right and as I slowed down I could discern what appeared to be towers with a shimmering globe rising above swirling mists.  Enjoying the free-flowing control my subconscious had given me over my movements I decided to investigate and as I came closer the mists lifted and flying buttresses abutting an imposing edifice reared up.  This was a place I knew by sight though I had never visited it in my waking hours.  

The Hagia Sofia is magnificent.  I had pawed over images of it a thousand times and knew it’s shape and contours well; now it seemed I was to know how it felt to stand under the great dome.  There was the glittering Bosphorus and to my left lay the Sea of Marmara, while directly below me sat Acropolis point, the very tip of the Golden Horn, and I spied the impressive barricade of the Theodosian wall lining the Horn like a huge, heavy necklace.  A gap in the wall indicated the Eugenius gate from where the Byzantines had strung the great chain intended to keep out the ships of the marauding Ottomans of Mehmet’s army during the great siege.  Now I knew not only where I was, but also when.  Straining my eyes I looked now to my right for the ends of Europe and the Genoese enclave of Galata but it seemed even my subconscious had limits and it was nowhere to be seen.

The Hagia Sofia, Istanbul

Without thinking about it I knew it was 1453, the year the crumbling Byzantine empire was put to the sword though as I fluttered down, flying just above the florid rooftops of indiscernible houses, I could see no signs of violence.  The sound of a muezzin calling the faithful to prayer hung in the air like a mystical magnet pulling me down to earth.

I landed softly unaware whether I was invisible or just another man among the many.  I was somehow beneath the great dome now, the huge, graceful columns and porticoed galleries soared above me, giant discs of azur blue wrought with gold calligraphy detailing Koranic verses hung conspicuously from the first gallery like incongruous badges on a Janissary’s chest.  All around me men in traditional Arab garb were talking in small groups in guttural tones that were incoherent to me.  I remember wondering at the time if they were truly speaking Arabic or just some hotch-potch of my imagination.

I walked around, apparently unnoticed, peering into the dark corners of my subconscious, as if I were testing the depths of my fantasy.  I wasn’t sure what, or who I was looking for, but I looked nonetheless and then sitting cross-legged in a dank recess sat a young man whose eye caught mine.  His face was partially hidden beneath a cowl and it was dark but there remained something familiar, yet oddly distant in his look.  I think I did a double take, aware for the first time that someone was looking back at me and as our eyes met again his features suddenly became clear.  I smiled.  I think I’d been looking for Mehmet, but maybe I had no clear image in my head of what he may look like, so instead I found Percy Jackson!

He gave me a conspiratorial grin then from beneath his cloak he pulled out a magic wand and holding it aloft he began chanting what I presumed to be a spell of some sort!

Percy Jackson! How did he get in my head?

But hang on a minute!  Even in my dream state I knew something wasn’t right.  Harry Potter has a wand, not Percy Jackson, but try as I might I couldn’t remember what he had in it’s stead.  Then a bolt of light shot from the wand and I followed it up high above my head.  The domes and porticos had disappeared; so it seemed had the Hagia Sofia, because the beam of light was swallowed up by a woody canopy of giant trees that threw great fingers of timber across a night sky hundreds of feet above my head.

I looked about me wondering where all the Turks had gone and how I had missed sundown.  Percy stood up and as he did men in black uniforms flew down out of the darkness on magic carpets, bren guns slung over their shoulders.  I was having a great time and I think I began to laugh just as Percy bundled me over and the metallic ricochet of bullets sprayed all around me.  Percy raised his wand again and another bolt of light shot out as one of the men on carpets vapourised, his machine gun falling at my feet.

I picked it up fully aware that I’d never held a gun of any description before, but it all seemed quite natural and far from being scared I think I was exhilarated.  I fired, standing shoulder to shoulder with Percy Jackson as the black uniformed men, who I had assumed by now were bent with an evil intent, dropped like flies all about us.  

All of a sudden I was aloft again, but this time riding high on some sort of flying banana boat.  Percy was sitting in front of me, looking back over his shoulder and beaming like a Cheshire cat.  I wanted to ask who those men were but before I had a chance he told me, “Right wingers!” he said, “Bloody Nazi’s!”

“Shit!” I said. “And who’s that?” I asked as I pointed to some more flighty figures zooming out of the sunlight above us.  It was apparently daytime again and my dream was moving apace.  

“I’m not sure!” said Percy, “Perhaps they’re Eurosceptics?”

“Brexiteers?” I asked.

“Think so!  Have they got weapons?”

“No, no!  I think they’re waving ballot papers!”

“Shit!  I’m out!”  And with that he faded away into the backwaters of my mind, leaving me alone on my flying sausage wondering where the hell I was headed.  Paper planes made out of referendum ballot papers whizzed past my ears and around my head, sucking me down into a vortex of despair as I fell from the skies in a tempest of ‘remain’ votes that no longer flew.

Sunny boy!

A gentle humming awoke me!  My face was wet and my chest heavy.  Sunny, my lovely pusscat was sitting across my neck, a living, breathing stole, and he was purring, hungry and licking my face!

“Sunny!  You want brekky boy?”  

He purred his agreement.  I got up, yawning, still tired and knowing full well I hardly slept.  The sun was just coming up, poking its’ orange brow above the horizon and as I set the kettle to boil I pondered the meaning or significance of my dream as Sunny gulped his fishy breakfast greedily at my feet.  

Why Donald Trump is so Dangerous for America and Americans.

I've got a big problem with Donald Trump & anyone who has followed any of my twitter posts to or about him will know this.  On a personal level there is no particular animosity; my problem is that Trump has transcended the personal to become a public figure and therein lies my problem.  Were he not running for the most powerful seat in World politics I wouldn't care what he said, but he is and so I do!

Now, as much as it might irk many Britons to admit it, the United States is the most powerful, influential nation on earth right now and, barring planetary catastrophes, will probably remain so for the rest of my, and probably your lifetime, so who is in the Oval Office has a bearing on most everyone's life in some way or other, no matter how strong or oblique that influence may be.

People, groups, institutions, even whole nations look to the US to lead the way; how America does things, any things, can be hugely influential, though I do believe that level of influence has fallen somewhat since the turn of the century, particularly since 9/11.  Nevertheless, America remains, for good or bad, the most powerful and influential nation on earth.

It's not just that the US has the largest economy, though that obviously helps (the US extend their reach), America's media (in all it's forms) has an enormous, almost overriding influence on current and (near) future trends, be they political, financial or something more aesthetic and obscure like fashion, music, movies, even down to what we eat, even what we say.  Most of the biggest corporations in the world are American (e.g. Google, Facebook, McDonalds) and their say in what and how we live our lives is huge, albeit often unseen and unrecognised.  American's are by far the best at marketing, be that an idea, a concept, a product, a TV programme, a movie, a clothes chain, a coffee house, or even an individual.  Witness the outpourings of grief around the world following the sad passing of Muhammad Ali, who was undoubtedly a great boxer and a great man, but did we see similar grief and recognition when Mother Teresa died?  No, nothing like.  So is Muhammad Ali more, or less great than Mother Teresa?  That's not for me to say, but perhaps Ali's passing has brought forth such outpourings because he was American and because of that, one way or another, his heavily marketed life touched many people indirectly in so many ways, mine included, whereas that of Mother Teresa touched only the lives of the relatively few that she directly interacted with.

Now, I'm not saying anything against Ali - heaven forbid - he was one of my great heroes (see my tribute here), but do you think he would have gained all the accolades he did during his remarkable life had he been born in...say, Ivory Coast?  Or Kenya?  I don't think so!  Ali became great by virtue of the influence he had over so many people, an influence that was relayed to us via American TV, American news, American documentaries and American books, all of which filtered down into our own news, documentaries and books so that in the end Ali became part of our culture, be that British, French, African, whatever.  He became great because he was (wittingly or not) marketed by the American media system and so his story reached the whole planet in a way that if he'd been from Kenya, it would not have done.

My mate, the highly attractive Donald trump!

So, given that America has such a strong say in our lives, the man (or woman)  in charge of America should be of interest to all of us, since he/she has a say either directly or indirectly in the lives of the vast majority of the people on the planet.  Thus when a man like Trump, running for the Presidency of this most influential of nations says the things he does and behaves the way that he does, it should be of import to us all.  The things he says, the way he does things, the way he treats people, races or religious groups becomes something that each and every one of us should be taking notice of, simply because of the influence that America holds over us.  So when Trump disparages individuals because of their racial heritage, or their religious beliefs or their (lack of?) economic standing people take notice and follow his lead, particularly in America, but this filters down to all of us eventually, wherever we are via social media, TV or through simple conversation.  His thoughtless, heartless bullying of anyone who rankles him, and the language he uses in doing so becomes hugely influential and for many it normalises such treatment, making it everyday and acceptable - after all, if a budding President can call women 'pigs' then it must be okay to treat women like that, right?  If a budding President can call all Mexicans murderers and drug dealers then surely they are and should be treated as such, right?  If a budding President can suggest that all Muslims are terrorists and should be banned from his country, then they must be and they should be regarded in that light, right?

But none of these things are okay, regardless of how true or untrue they may be.  Nor is it okay to suggest that he would order US armed forces to kill every member of ISIS, including their families, despite the illegality of such.  He gives no thought to the political consequences of such an action; the trampling of national sovereignties that would be needed in order to achieve such; the social consequences (in America and elsewhere) of ordering the murder of the citizens of other nations (who make up ISIS); the resultant psychological and social effects of such an order on the individuals within the US armed forces!  But because a budding President says it's okay, then it must be okay, right?  I can almost hear the clamour for such action amongst the gung-ho, NRA wielding sections of US society because Trump has deemed it acceptable and has made their wildest, flag waving, gun-toting fantasies a near reality.

And do know what, for the rest of us, it's bloody scary!  The man himself is far from scary; he's more a parody of everything that America shouldn't stand for!  He's racist, he's prejudiced, he's lewd, he's sexist and he's a bully.  No, the man himself is a bit of a joke.  It's what he says that's scary!  And it's the possible consequences of what he says, should he win out, that are more scary still.

This is a man who speaks without thought for the consequences, who opens his mouth, throws out his wayward, often contradictory opinions before he's engaged his brain, then tries to get out of it afterwards by saying 'my comments were misconstrued!'  Is this really the man we want with his finger on the button, who could just as easily start a nuclear war and then apologise after the fact saying that it wasn't what he meant, and he has no problem with Muslims, or Hispanics or whoever it is he had accidentally blown up!

This is a man who could antagonise half of the planet with his tawdry, poorly thought out opinions and make life unbearably hard for American's living or trying to do business outside of the US because, like it or not, human nature dictates that if the leader of nation holds such low-level views of non-white, non-Christian Americans, then every American, good or bad, holds the same antagonistic opinions.  Far from making America great again, this is a man that could utterly destroy America's reputation and isolate the United States completely.

This is a man who doesn't believe in climate change and says that it's all scam by scientists designed to garner government funding for their little research and pet animal projects and as such would he blow the Paris accord out of the water, invest heavily in the toxic industries of oil and gas and coal, stop all funding to environmental agencies and disband all environmental research projects and yet, conversely, is building a wall to stop the ever encroaching sea as it erodes away his multi-million dollar golf course in Ireland.

This is a man within whom hypocrisy runs riot, contradictory opinions and values run hot and cold depending on where and to whom he's speaking.  As Stephen Hawking says, this is a man who "appeals to the lower common denominator" and changes his tack and views as often as he changes his ties.  This is a man who will say whatever he thinks the particular crowd wants to hear in order to win their vote, heedless of the facts, the truth or what he may have said before.  The fact that so many of his fellow Republicans can throw their support behind this despicable man shows just how desperate the GOP is to win the November election.  That Paul Ryan can be so aware of how racist and inflammatory Trump is and yet still say he backs him highlights just how desperate the GOP are for power after 8 years in the doldrums.

It stinks and the smell is pervading the whole of American politics, demonstrating just how fake, partisan and yes, political it has all become.  Doing or saying the right thing no longer seems to matter.  The good old American adage of 'win at all costs' is rearing its' head and it's uglier than ever.  Agree with them or not, there was nothing inherently 'wrong' with traditionally held Republican values, but just as some Muslims twist and contort the meaning of the Koran in order to inspire other (weak-minded) Muslims to commit terrible atrocities so Trump is twisting Republican values until they become all but unrecognisable.

This upcoming election campaign, when it begins in earnest, I fully believe will prove to be the most vitriolic, the most personal and the ugliest in living memory.  In much the same way as the EU referendum in the UK is ripping the British political scene asunder until one wonders how any of the major parties will be able to move forward, post-referendum, whatever the result, I believe that this US election could well signal the end of American politics as we know it.  Whether it will all lead in the end to a reduction in America's sphere of global influence is open to debate and will perhaps only be seen fully given sufficient time, but I do predict that America's image will be tarnished beyond repair by Trump unless some way can be found to muzzle and stop this man before he can do too much damage to the reputation of the nation he professes to love.

Have a good weekend, whatever your politics!