What life do you want to live? The world is your oyster when you've got money. Rich in a way that you didn't know people could be rich, this is Mikhail Khachaturian, also known as 'Ketch.' A mega-yacht, a private plane, homes around the world, and women, these are the perks of the trade for a man who's willing to do whatever it takes to get a deal done. Someone's standing between you and something you want, well then, move them out of the way. This is the law of the jungle, survival of the fittest, the way we're made. This is Capitalism: caveat emptor, buyer beware. This is Adam Smith's Invisible Hand: if you're too slow, or stupid, you get eaten. Struggling as an academic, Ketch's brother, Dimitri, asks Ketch to teach him his trade. Well, brother, what are you willing to do to get what you want? Are you willing to shoot the cow to eat a burger? Are you willing to kill a man standing between you and a billion dollar deal? Wrestle with your conscience, but know that your hands are already dirty. You are already complicit in your nation's war to preserve its "Way of Life." The American Way of Life: bombing people, exploiting the third-world, military imperialism. Why not be your own nation? Why not fight and kill to not only preserve, but to also enhance, your own way of life? Why not be, just, a Nation of One? Join me, my brother. Take this gun and shoot that cow, so that tonight we can eat burgers. At a crossroads, Dimitri wrestles with the dilemma which we all face: at what point do I stop thinking of others, and only think of myself; how much do I take for myself, at the expense of others? A spiraling descent into the ambiguity of morality, a Nation of One will leave you questioning the very foundations upon which our society, and our humanity, stand.
About the Author: I write because of the fragility of our existence. I write because it's my answer to impermanence. I write because it helps me stay connected to my heart. I write because we're all different, and so much the same. I write because the world needs more tenderness. I write because I'm tired of secrets. I write because it's my path to redemption. I write because I've forsaken those that I love. I write because I want to know myself. I write because I want to know you. I write because I'm drawn towards things I shouldn't do. I write because every flower is meant to bloom. I write because life is full of paradoxes. I write because I've had to leave friends behind. I write because it's my form of prayer. I write because, when I write, I lose track of time. I write because I've walked dark streets looking for love. I write because of the way the sublime slips away from words. I write because of the twice shy part of once burned. I write because it helps me learn. I write because there are plenty of people who have written, famous well-published people, literary figures, literary giants, and I didn't like what they wrote. I write because I'm always telling myself stories anyhow. I write because I don't know all of the reasons I write. I write for you. I write. I write. I write. www.tscottmcleod.com