Canada is Dying

A Quiet Room, After the Lights

Joe Jukic—JCJ—sits across from Madonna. The city hums outside like a tired engine.

JCJ:
Canada feels like it’s running on fumes, Madonna. Not just the economy—people. You can feel it in the grocery aisles, the hospitals, the silence after payday.

Madonna (measured, curious):
Every empire reaches a moment where it has to choose reinvention or ritual. Why tell me this?

JCJ:
Because you’re half French Canadian. Because you understand what it means to belong to more than one place—and to leave one without abandoning it.

Madonna:
Leaving is an art. Staying is a discipline.

JCJ:
I’m preparing my last chess move. Castle. Back to Croatia. Dalmatia. My uncle in Sinj—he had so much food he couldn’t give it away. That kind of abundance changes how you think about life, about responsibility.

Madonna (soft smile):
You’re saying scarcity isn’t destiny.

JCJ:
Exactly. It’s design. I’ve talked with Nelly Furtado’s cousins. They know what I’m planning. This isn’t escape—it’s repositioning. A castle maneuver. You protect what matters, then you move.

Madonna:
And where does music end and politics begin in your game?

JCJ:
They were never separate. If you ever want to go from pop to politics—really go—I’m in. I’d stand as the first man of Prime Minister Furtado. She governs by referendum—people deciding, not just reacting.
She runs the country with referendumparty.ca.

Madonna (arching an eyebrow):
And you?

JCJ:
I build the scaffolding. A forum where nations talk before they fight. Where food security is strategy, not charity. un-forum.org. No anthems—just tables and maps.

Madonna:
You’re asking me to believe in a politics that sounds… human.

JCJ:
I’m asking you to remember who you are when the stage lights go dark. Reinvention isn’t costume. It’s courage.

Madonna looks out the window, the city blinking like a tired constellation.

Madonna:
Every era needs a chorus that refuses to sing the old lies.
If you’re castling back to Dalmatia, Joe… make sure the board is big enough for everyone.

They shake hands—not a pact, but a possibility.

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