Body Language: Get Naked

So there we were again, Bush. The George and Vladimir show. I imagine you looked into his eyes and checked in on his soul, as you did the last time around. So I’m anxious to know what you saw there, this time? Something a little darker than four years ago? Did you catch a glimpse of the tyrant behind the mask of the benevolent democratic leader? The one who shuts down the media, chucks businessmen in jail, and throws his weight around in distant territories?

Here’s what I saw, Bush, just watching you both on the television screen. I saw two men heavily armored, against each other and against the world. Two men and their shadows. I saw one man acting out the guise of friendship, half-turning, half-smiling, half-gesturing toward the other. Then snatching it all back, in case he’d gone too far. I saw the other man ramrod straight, unsmiling, uncomfortable to be there, holding it all together with iron control.

Here’s what I saw your body say, Bush. It said, Please love me, please admire me, I’m not such a bad fellow after all. It said, this is a hard job, I’m doing the best I can, believe me. This is important. It said, also, I’d touch you if I dared, but I know that would be going too far. I know I’d burn if I reached out for you. It said, I know you think you’re right, but I know that I am. Don’t I? It said, if people really knew what was going on inside, I’d lose it all.

And Vladimir’s? His body was one whole big fuck-you. I mean, excuse the language, Bush, but let’s for once be men together, okay? It said, get out of my face. It said, I’m standing here listening to your crap because I have to, not because I want to. It said, you’re pathetic, Bush. You just don’t understand the realities of the world. You don’t understand my country and its history. You don’t understand the need for an iron hand. That’s what I am, Bush. I’m iron, through and through, and nothing you say or do will get to me. Let’s get this over with, and get back to our own business.

This is how men are together. The speak the truth unconsciously, not with their words--which often lie--but with their bodies, which can't. And they understand each other in that realm beyond the words. In view of which, I have a modest propsal, Bush. Next time around, they should make you both get naked—I mean stark, balls-out naked—and have you wrestle right there on the ground before you say a word. A friendly match. Not to win, but simply to test out strengths and weaknesses in the most physical way. To understand the attraction as well as the aggression. To take true measure of each other.

That way, you both get honest, you get intimate, you have nothing more to hide. Instead of looking into Valdimir’s eyes and pretending that you know his soul, you get to know his body, and he, yours. No more of this ridiculous posturing, and protocol, and diplomatic etiquette. No more of this toxic competition to show who’s stronger than the other. You speak to each other in terms that you can’t help but understand. Once that’s done, you can begin to talk, and trust each other, without dissembling, man to man. You get the men’s stuff out of the way, and talk to each other like real human beings.

How’s that for an idea, Bush? Not a hope, I guess. Still, I thought I’d just put it out there. Oh, and by the way, welcome home.