Because I Want To; Because I Must;

I Could Fight With The Living But I Could Not Fight The Dead. If There Was Some Woman In London That Maxim Loved, Someone He Wrote To, Visited, Dined With, Slept With, I Could Fight Her. We Would Stand On Common Ground. I Should Not Be Afraid. Anger And Jealousy Were Things That Could Be Conquered. One Day The Woman Would Grow Old Or Tired Or Different, And Maxim Would Not Love Her Anymore. But Rebecca Would Never Grow Old. Rebecca Would Always Be The Same. And She And I Could Not Fight. She Was To Strong For Me.

Boredom Is A Pleasing Antidote For Fear

If Only There Could Be An Invention That Bottled Up A Memory, Like Scent. And It Never Faded, And It Never Got Stale. And Then, When One Wanted It, The Bottle Could Be Uncorked, And It Would Be Like Living The Moment All Over Again.

Living As We Do In An Age Of Noise And Bluster, Success Is Now Measured Accordingly. We Must All Be Seen, And Heard, And On The Air.

So You See, When War Comes To One’s Village, One’s Doorstep, It Isn’t Tragic And Impersonal Any Longer. It Is Just An Excuse To Vomit Private Hatred. That Is Why I Am Not A Great Patriot.