A Resort on the Ruins: The End of the United Nations and the Resurrection of the Jungle..
For the past several days, I have found myself immersed in a deluge of reportage, dissecting the sanitized dispatches regarding the so-called trial of the President of Venezuela within the self-proclaimed bastion of democracy that is the United States. Each sentence scans across my radar like a blip of incoming ordinance, and every defiant syllable uttered by the Venezuelan leader echoes within the claustrophobic confines of this geopolitical theater. Something in these events pulls at the threads of memory; something drags my attention back to the spectral voices of history, forcing the clock to turn its face backward. When President Nicolás Maduro unapologetically declared from his holding cell—or rather, his cage—that "Still I am the President of Venezuela, and they captured me from my palace while breaking the legality of international law," history whispered in grim unison with his words. There was a man from Libya who uttered a nearly identical sentiment a d...
