The past three weeks of 24/7 shock and awe sh*t, war-war porn on our flat screens, smart phones, tablets and computers took me back to similar dark times 50-years ago, when I heard a fellow boomer’s tune on my FM radio as America’s first televised nightly news war crescendoed half a world away in Vietnam.

That we’ve become a nation of violence porn addicts still shocks me in that unlike those long-ago days, practically none of us today has or perceives they have any real skin in the game now that America’s draft conscription fell off the table for good back then.

Meanwhile, erstwhile progressive anti-war types in Manhattan are trashing Russian immigrant-owned businesses, museums, restaurants, firing ballet dancers and opera singers. That used to be called bigotry. Now it’s patriotic solidarity. Sheesh, how did we Americans lose our innocence and way so badly?

A belated tip of the hat to Jackson Browne and his “Doctor My Eyes”:

Doctor, my eyes have seen the years
And the slow parade of fears without crying
Now I want to understand

I have done all that I could
To see the evil and the good without hiding
You must help me if you can

Doctor, my eyes
Tell me what is wrong
Was I unwise to leave them open for so long

‘Cause I have wandered through this world
And as each moment has unfurled
I’ve been waiting to awaken from these dreams

People go just where they will
I never noticed them until I got this feeling
That it’s later than it seems

Doctor, my eyes
Tell me what you see
I hear their cries
Just say if it’s too late for me

Doctor, my eyes
They cannot see the sky
Is this the prize
For having learned how not to cry

Is there a doctor to diagnose and treat us? Some prescription medicine for us to take? Will our crusted eyes and burning souls return to normal after having seen too much? Is American idealism gone forever?

Meanwhile, let’s stop importing vodka and caviar. That’ll show ‘em.

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