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Isn't it funny how everyone said the Russians were going to be in Kharkiv City by June? Or how before that, the Ukrainians were going to be at the Azov Sea by September? Or before that, how the Russians were going to take Kyiv in 3 days? Disappointing offensives have become the norm. It doesn’t matter how many men you have, there are certain types of terrain that you can’t cross with significant forces without significant losses. Once the enemy, either Russian or Ukrainian, is prepared for you, no love of God or country is going to save that offensive. You may eventually take the position, but at great cost. Intellectually-speaking, in warfare, if the enemy knows you’re going to attack a location, then you should change your plans and attack where the enemy is not. But this is not Sun-Tzu. This is not 500 B.C. The problem with the scale of modern warfare, especially once enormous frontlines and trenches are involved, is that battlefield strategy ceases to matter as much, and nations begin relying more and more on sheer numbers to achieve their war-goals. The enemy is everywhere, and the eyes of the mighty can now scour the land with drones and satellites in a way only envisaged by J.R.R. Tolkien. It’s almost impossible to truly surprise anyone in 2024. Russia only lost the large swaths of territory in Kherson and Kharkiv in 2022 because of their impatience and arrogance to not fortify and control the land they had captured. They were in such a hurry to go with the king-killing strategy of taking Kyiv, that they didn’t do the humble work of preparation and exerting control over territory, making sure to maintain multiple supply lines. Logistics defeated Russia, not Ukraine. Now, the logistics are biting into both sides. I can’t help but be reminded by WWI, and the eternal promise of a summer offensive over the course of the 4-year-conflict. The reoccurring logic is that we will lick our wounds and heal over the winter, and by summer hopefully stock up enough material for another offensive. Sound familiar? “Trust me, bro. It’s going to be beautiful, bro,” says the Kaiser in all of us. In reality, though, this is a very different war for two reasons: drones and AI. This war is going to be settled by drones over the skies of Ukraine, Russia, and perhaps even Europe if it gets bad enough. It’s probably going to set precedents that the Chinese will learn from in developing their automated warmachine (which the United States already has, and probably borders on the war-criminal). 2025 will be the year of the drone.

Last night she smiled in the sky over Kharkiv, her face beguiled in an enchanting glow that brimmed with midsummer energy and manic moonlit madness at midnight. The air raid siren sounded its clarion call, but she paid it no mind. Nothing could distract her from her own beauty, and her soft, overwhelming love for the world below. Nothing could distract her from the moment, and her heart’s longing for experience. The air raid siren had no choice but to be completely absorbed by her eternal chorus, just another background character in her eternal play on the world stage. She wasn’t even full yet, but her beauty outshined the stars and the light of a dying sun. Tonight she will be even fuller. Tomorrow she will be fuller still. I can’t even imagine a more beautiful tomorrow than seeing a near-full moon gazing down at me from the vast expanse, pregnant with possibility. Sickeningly saccharine and sinisterly sweet, her honey drips down into the mead she serves the world at midnight. No one can refuse her. Her madness is intoxicating, her allure inescapable. Her love is inevitable, her will indomitable. And yet she is quiet and reposed. She witnesses the world silently, that shimmering smile her only word. On Friday, it will be the summer solstice and the full moon. I will be going to a wedding. I think it’s going to be an interesting day…

We’re in the lovely city of Odesa. The charming scenes of old Europe, imperialistic statues and turn-of-the-century architecture, with verdant parks and emerald trees lining cobblestone streets, feel surreal. It’s surreal that such a serene paradise is marred by sirens and the threat of bombs. But welcome to Putin’s Europe. We walked to the Black Sea at Langeron and Otrada Beach. I walked out along a pier that Sonya was too scared to go down, and said hello to the sea. Its tumultuous tide was chaotic and crisp. I picked up a little handful of water and splashed it on my face. The water here is less salty than other marine locales I have visited. I had read it on an old Georgian website for travel that the Black Sea has less salt content than other seas. Guess the Georgians were right for once. We made sure to take lots of pictures of the city and the sea. Tomorrow, it’s my birthday and we’re going on a wine tasting of Ukrainian vintages from Odesa. I’m excited. Sonya doesn’t like wine that much, but she’s along for the ride. Let’s hope the future days go as smoothly as today!

Today, Sofiia got me a collection of hot sauce bottles as a birthday gift. Guess this is what I get for saying there’s no spice around here. She decided to give them to me before we leave for Odesa tomorrow. The weather is pregnant with water and heat and sunshine, and quite frankly doesn’t know what do with itself. Drops of rain drizzle on my shoulder as I ponder the oppressive heat and humid clouds outside my window. Thunder flirts with my ears in the distance. The view is always relaxing from up here, high above the problems of the world. Maybe I’ll stay for a just a moment longer. In the butchered words of a character from some Stephen King novel, “It’s days like this that I wish I still smoked.” Of course, I still smoke, but only when I buy a pack for a barbecue or party or night-on-the-town. Today, I sip my coffee and stare out into space with hopeless wonder, no cigarette to keep my feet on the ground. But there’s something to be said for hopeless wonder. Being too grounded can get old for a wind spirit like me. But at least now I have hot sauce! So… let’s get give a stellar shoutout to the sexy, stupendous, superbly-super Sonya!

From my madness blooms petals of blue and gold, green and purple, scarlet and indigo, crimson and yellow, roses and rain-lilies, salvia and sunflowers, carnations and chrysanthemums, lilies and lilacs, daisies and dahlias, poppies and peonies, hyacinths and hydrangea, wisteria and wolfsbane, marigolds and morning-glories, all flowers under the sun, all blurry blots of ink blooming on a white page, stainless and blameless, an empty field, fertile and free. The manic muse of the moment plays its symphony over the inky flowers that dance upon my page in watery reflections of allures and illusions, all alluding to some primordial time and space filled with color and passion, long lost to our mundane existence. And yet, at the edges of perception, their faint whispers and temptations tingle the backs of our ears, tickle the hairs at the napes of our necks, tease the tastebuds at the tips of our tongues. And in those brief, sweet flashes, we almost remember what it was like to be alive in that moment, with such beauty, believing that colors never fade, roses never wither, and things like love can last forever.

This weekend, Sofiia and I are going to Odesa for my birthday. We’ve both been really looking forward to it. She’s spent the last week preparing her outfits. The hardest part has been negotiating the wardrobe. She and I, shall we say, have slightly different tastes. Warm colors are not welcome here. For instance, a couple weeks ago when I came to her place for us to go to a barbecue on the river, I wore my red swim shorts and my Hawaiian shirt with all the local brews of Maui. She cried. “I’m not going out with you like that,” she sobbed. “Are you kidding me?” I asked. “No. It is so cringe. YOU are so cringe!” Sofiia exclaimed. “I mean I’ve literally worn this shirt before with you,” I shrugged. “I don’t care. Can’t you change?” She asked. “You said we’re already running late,” I told her. She sobbed in recognition of this fact. “Are you serious?” I exasperated. “How are we supposed to go to Odesa?” She cried. “That’s such a stretch,” I laughed. “I’m not going with you looking like that!” She insisted. “Are you really gonna do this right now?” I asked. Sofiia pouted. Eventually I convinced her to go outside, and the rest is history. The funny thing is all the guys at the barbecue were similarly dressed to me. But Odesa will be fun. Hopefully we don’t get killed by a mine or missile or drone, or get a really bad sunburn. My lady is very sensitive to sunlight, being a European vampire. I’ll finally get to swim in the Black Sea. It’ll be my first time swimming in a sea that’s in a war-zone. I’ve done the river. Now I need the sea. We’re leaving Kharkiv Thursday night on a 16-hour train ride to Odesa. We’ll arrive around noon Friday. My birthday is Sunday. So it’ll be fun! I’m sure there’ll be lots of spicy drama, maybe some inspiration for more blog posts! Hopefully no one dies. And if I die, 9-times-outta-10 it was Sofiia with a knife in the kitchen!!!

Kharkiv is a city of heroes. Over one million people live here everyday, despite the disruption, despite the bombs, to provide the military and economic backbone of Ukraine in the shadow of Russia. Ninety years ago, Russians, Britons, and Americans shared a vision of a world without fascists, a world where borders wouldn’t be drawn by violence, and although all sides would violate this principle many times around the world, we found ourselves in an uneasy era of peace and international law for at least the privileged few. It couldn’t even last 100 years. Russia, a shadow of a shadow of its former glory, has decided to violate what millions of its men, women and children died for. In the same stupid way America invaded Iraq, Russia and many other countries, including Israel, have learned the exact wrong lesson from the War on Terror: that anything and anyone is a fair target in the name of “national security.” Countries like America, Russia, and Israel that are governed by their military impulses and industrial complexes, will also suffer by them. Despite this obvious reality, the world learned a different, much darker and incomprehensible lesson: that, in an era of economic interdependence, the world would be forced to put up with any misbehavior by great powers. What all these states fail to take into account is the severe damage that this lawlessness did to America in the aftermath of its invasion of the sovereign state of Iraq. Faith in institutions declined, and the democratic experiment is at risk worldwide. The United States, and the world, is neither richer, stronger, nor safer because of such adventurism. Instead of seeing what should be a cautionary tale, the ambitious violent men of the world see opportunity. The economic gains of the world over the last 21 years have been on credit, and are inherently unsustainable. Trillions of dollars of debt have been added to the global financial system for a global war that had no winners. Every “terrorist” we killed created two more to take their place. Overleveraged corporations that looked juicy in the era of zero-percent interest rates, look as weak and flimsy as the global financial system that underwrites them. Right at the moment where the world can least afford war, similar to 1939, we find ourselves right back where we started, in a world that wants to devour itself. And here I sit in Kharkiv, a city under siege by drones and glide-bombs, more than 90 years after that fateful year. What really has changed? And yet, how could things be more different? In what era could I live in a major city less than 20 miles from frontlines of one of the great wars of human history sipping beer and eating sushi? How can this level of prosperity and chaos be possible? I tell Ukrainians this all the time, “Imagine telling your babushka that in the future, during a major, world-altering war, we are able to sit here and live almost normal lives, with no shortages and good sushi.” It almost flirts with the absurd. And in Moscow it is a similar story. We live now in a correct prediction of Orwell’s 1984: that industrialized nations will be able to wage forever wars without major consequences to their population, sustaining themselves and their oppressive systems by illusionary threats to their domestic domains. And yet there are consequences. Just because populations can be sheltered from the costs and sacrifices of major conflicts, does not mean that these conflicts do not do lasting damage to the planet that we all need to survive. Is the Ukraine of 2024 really more favorable to Russia than the Ukraine of 2014? Has NATO ceased its relentless eastward expansion? And are Iraq and Afghanistan really more favorable to Americans than they were in 2003? And are those paltry gains worth a few trillion dollars? Is Gaza, the West Bank and Lebanon truly a more palatable situation to Israel than in 2006? And do Jews really feel safer in the world now than before the War on Terror? The honest answer to all these questions is no. But unfortunately, honesty is not a political commodity in the year 2024.

The worm is turning again. Positions shift. Initiative is lost and gained. People are rearranged like pieces on a board. One side is “winning” and then another. The truth is that this war is a stalemate, and yet at the very same time, absolutely unpredictable and dynamic. Even as the Russian offensive in the northern reaches of Kharkiv Oblast has begun to run dry, reports to the east out of Kupyansk indicate bloody fighting with entire Ukrainian battalions being lost along with hundreds of Russians a day. And the Russian line is creeping up, inch by inch, pound for pound. Flesh is the currency that pays for Russian acquisition. And Russia is certainly very rich in that regard. The drone wars of the 21st century have begun in the sky, where new generations of drones are engaged in an aerial battle to dominate the future. Drone production and technology is one critical place where Russia still lags behind Ukraine. Russia currently uses glide-bombs launched from aircraft to strike cities and targets on the ground. The glide-bombs are very simple devices that are hard to target due to their lack of sophistication. But Ukraine is on its way to producing 1,000,000 drones this year. If even a quarter of these are successful that would theoretically equate to 250,000 Russian casualties, if not many more. Also many of the drones are multi-use and seaborne, not just suicide drones like Iranian Shaheds. The drones also now have capabilities to fight other drones in the air. So, even though this war seems to be a bloody stalemate, it’s anyone’s guess what’s going to happen.

Nothing significant to report. The air raid sirens went off. I think. The sound of the sirens has melded so deeply into my day-to-day, that it’s become nothing to write home about. I spent last night at Sofiia’s apartment. She works as a translator for an engineering firm, and has to get up early for work. So my morning has been chaotic thus far. Whether that chaos will turn into productive writing is anyone’s guess. My friend Rod asked me to buy him some critical medicine that costs an extortionate $80 a week at the front. He sent me some money, and I secured around 6 months worth for $130 in Kharkiv. “You’re a lifesaver, mate,” he told me. “No problem, man. Happy to help,” I replied. Rod needs the medication to keep his leg from swelling after he suffered a shrapnel wound last August, when a rocket hit near a car he was in, sending shrapnel up through the floor and into his calf. He ended up mistreating the wound and needing multiple surgeries in Ukraine and Britain by November. He had a single blood-clot that went from his lungs and heart all the way down to his calf. I’m pretty sure it's still in there. He also had to have a final surgery in London to treat a gangrene/blood infection. And even after all that, he was back in Ukraine the first week of January. I’m going to Nova Poshta today to ship his drugs. Hopefully, they don’t try to pull any Ukrainian Nonsense(1) this time. (1) Ukrainian Nonsense - a phrase describing frustratingly provincial, archaic, inefficient methods or behaviors used in Ukrainian society, often operating without criticism or questions from participants; can also refer to superstitious beliefs or behaviors that make life more confusing for foreigners functioning in Ukraine. Example - “Hey man! How was your bus trip to Lublin from Kyiv?” "It was terrible.” “What happened?” “There were no signs anywhere in English or Ukrainian.” “Oh, man. That’s some Ukrainian Nonsense, right there.” “It gets worse. All the information about the bus and the border-crossing is spread by word of mouth.” “Damn. That’s crazy.” “And don’t even get me started about those Polish truckers blockading the border!” “Oh, brother. That’s rough.” “And, my brother in Christ, before you say anything about Ukrainian Nonsense, wait until you experience POLISH Nonsense!”

Yesterday, a thunderstorm rolled through Kharkiv at sunset. The last gasps of a dying sun pierced the clouds with its golden light. Heavy showers fell from heaven, and lightning lit up the sky. Blasts of light dominated the horizon for two hours of kinetic frenzy. I sat on my windowsill taking video, eventually able to capture that electric sky. “This would be a perfect time for Russia to hit us,” I thought macabrely. The moan of the air raid siren entered the scene less than a second later. “Yea, that’s what I’d do,” I nodded sagely. On the frontline, Russia is losing momentum in its Kharkiv-related endeavors. Part of their problem is that they’re never patient enough to wait until they have overwhelming force in bulk before starting their operations. They were supposed to build-up 90,000 troops on the Belgorod border, but they began their operations with 60,000. These are the problems that arise when you can’t speak truth to power ALL the way up a chain of command, and the problems just get brushed under the rug until they become so burdensome that someone gets “disciplined” like a scapegoat for an individual incident, when in fact, it’s the system that promotes irresponsibility and failure. It’s not that Russians are stupid. It’s that the entire country is run by liars and manipulators who thrive in Putin’s system, but as it turns out, when you need to make sure that trains run on time, supplies are steady, there are no bottlenecks in the chain, and at least 90% of the product makes it to its destination, liars and manipulators fail to ensure success. Basically, Russia is run by what the famous American General Omar Bradley would call, “strategists.” They’re really good at spycraft, diplomacy, and misinformation; but when it comes to keeping the soldiers fed and armed they fail spectacularly. This is why there’s such a technical crisis and worker shortage in the country. It turns out ex-KGB members aren’t the best economists. And luckily for Ukraine, they’re not very good military minds either. In the words of Bradley, “Amateurs talk strategy, and professionals talk logistics.” This is why Russia is attempting radical reforms that look dangerously successful. It’s purging the “Shoigu-ites” and appointing people who know things, rather than people who lie about knowing things, while their only real skill is silencing rivals in Putin’s Game of Thrones. Appointing a major economist to run the military is a sure sign that even the Russians are realizing that simple logistics matter more than clever schemes. But at the end of the day, the real lesson in all this is that offensives of all forms in this war have been consistently overhyped. The reality is, once you put down the kind of defensive infrastructure like the Russians and Ukrainians have done, no amount of manpower can easily break through, so you’re left with this grinding war of attrition. It’s not that territorial gains are impossible. It’s that they’re ineffective at achieving victory. Large-scale wars like this one are won in the farms and factories not on the battlefield. Neither side has completely learned this lesson yet, but both slowly seem to be waking up to the idea. This is a marathon, not a sprint. It doesn’t look to be changing anytime soon, but it can change in heartbeat. So, we just keep waiting for our moment. And the drones keep buzzing overhead.

Last night, the siren’s call went silent. Temperate rain poured from a tumultuous sky. The smell of dust and rust and asphalt filled my nostrils as I sat at the window, staring up into the cloudy abyss. Sleep came uneasily. I awoke with no power. I took a shower with the hot water left in the heater. Out of habit, I poured “hot” water from the electric kettle over instant coffee. It was less than desirable. I am now sitting at my computer, tap-tap-tapping away at the keys, sipping jailhouse coffee. It’s been almost 3 weeks since I’ve experienced any internet or power disruptions. We’ve been really lucky. I think Kharkiv, because of its critical industries and role in the war, is actually facing less power disruption than the rest of Ukraine lately. The worst outages we experienced here were during the first couple weeks of May. Since then, we’ve basically been living on that “Ukrainian Spark” of ingenuity and innovation that doesn’t get directly reported on, so that the Russians can’t destroy it. Kyiv has been hit pretty hard by blackouts this week. It reminds me of a line of poetry I wrote back in December 2022: Electric Lady Dark City Running Late And Looking Pretty That “Ukrainian Spark” is still alive and well in 2024. Slava Ukraini!

The sound of thunder shakes my walls at night. The window is open. The melancholy moan of the air raid siren sounds so loud it hurts my head. The chaotic cacophony of glide-bombs detonating in methodical rhythm all over Kharkiv tap-tap-tap away at my consciousness as I try to sleep. Sometimes they’re close, and the world trembles. Other times they’re like a distant dream. It’s around midnight. The heat of record high temperatures still clings to the humid air. Welcome to the intersection of world-altering events: climate change and war, wildfires and famine, droughts and displacement, artificial intelligence and unemployment. And somewhere in America, Donald Trump gets convicted. It’s an apotheosis of apathy, entropy, and denial. Everyone’s just going through the motions of the old-world, waiting for their feet to fall out from under them. No one is ready to believe in the future. No one is ready to let go of the past. Yet, this is not the future, nor the past, but the present. Yesterday’s science-fiction is today’s reality. Cognitive dissonance dissociates from the years gone by, living in a false eternal present without a future or a past. Everyone’s just reaching out desperately for comfortable and familiar things, grabbing hold of them like a security blanket. Nostalgia is a disease. Looking up at my ceiling, I feel anxious. I feel the weight of my failures press harder against my chest than any bomb or bullet could ever strike me. Every time I failed to return a call. Every promise that was lost to time. Every person I failed to live up to. Every dream I let die. Every love I lost. These are the things that trouble me, not death, not the end of the world, not injustice, not violence, not fear, but shame. Shame because I could always do better but never do. But then, from the dark abyss that has emptied inside me, I smile. I breathe and feel the light of a thousand suns. I thank God and the universe and all the people and spirits of the world, wordlessly, with a single thought of such unified power that it acknowledges and rejoices in all existence equally, every moment of suffering and sadness, joy and jubilation, all things being equally loved. Gratitude is the secret guardian of our hearts against soul sickness. I think of all the things I’ve been allowed to do. The places I’ve been. The people I talked to. The friends I made. The legends I got to hear speak. The love the world has for me. The love I have for the world. No amount of pain or death can take that from me. The air raid siren stops, and I drift off to sleep.