A Scar Is Never Ugly. That Is

It Is Certainly Impossible To Imagine Forgiving The Enemy While Their Animus Remains Undefeated.

My Maternal Grandmother Was In London During The Blitz. Indeed, The Man She Was Dating Before She Met My Grandfather Was Killed Beside Her In A Cinema, In 1941, When A Bomb Came Through The Roof - A Tragedy In Which She Herself Was Badly Wounded.

In My World Death Will Come Chasing. In Your World It Will Start Whispering In Your Ear To Destroy Yourself. I Know This Because It Started Whispering To Me When I Was In The Detention Center.

I Wanted To Look At The Differences Between How We Fought Then And How We Fight Now, Because The Current Lack Of Closure Generates A State Of Psychological Unease That Is Interesting To Acknowledge And Examine.

Death, Of Course, Is A Refuge. It's Where You Go When A New Name, Or A Mask And Cape, Can No Longer Hide You From Yourself. It's Where You Run To When None Of The Principalities Of Your Conscience Will Grant You Asylum.