At This Point In Time The War

The Future Looks Like Gasoline. . . . Crude Oil . . . Is The Future Before It Has Been Refined. It Is Like A Dream Of The Future, Really, And Like Any Dream It Ends With A Rude Awakening.

On Our Honeymoon We Talked And Talked. We Stayed In A Beachfront Villa, And We Drank Rum And Lemonade And Talked So Much That I Never Even Noticed What Color The Sea Was. Whenever I Need To Stop And Remind Myself How Much I Once Loved Andrew, I Only Need To Think About This. That The Ocean Covers Seven Tenths Of The Earth's Surface, And Yet My Husband Could Make Me Not Notice It.

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.

When I Reached Fort Binjemma, For Example, Where My Grandfather Was Stationed For A While, The Whole Victorian Fort Was Decaying. Barbed Wire Surrounded It, Spray Paint On The Ancient Walls Claimed It As Private Property, And The Moat Where My Grandfather And His Men Had Grown Crops - In Desperation As The Siege's Hunger Bit - Was Completely Overgrown With Bushes And Trees.

People Wonder How They Are Ever Going To Change Their Lives, But Really It Is Frighteningly Easy.