17 April 2026

Three beasts, one on top of the other, perhaps a fourth — the middle beast's ally. Iran (or IRGC) lying slain at the bottom as an ass, or bovine. But perhaps not slain, perhaps like a hydra with many heads, not slayable. The big-mouthed American eagle has swooped down and attacked the hydra, with the big-eyed Israeli mouse as ally. Then Starmer (or UK, or Europe) on top, hiding his face behind a mask. Duplicitous. I am always interested to see what the image in the eye is. Another head in the hydra. The hydra might not be slayable but it is bleeding terribly. And crying. Weeping. Europe is trying to balance above it all, but the astonished look on its face betrays a fall. The mask slips. You ungrateful little shits. That goes for the democrats and Trump-haters too. Categories emerge from the less determined mass. Boundaries blur and bleed into each other there. It becomes confusing, hysterical, useless, lost in there. Those who have failed to navigate the abyss. Through lack of trying. Through lack of faith. We live on in our contradictions. In our extremities that cancel each other out. Or balance each other out. But it all seems very desperate.