Terrorism Is The Symptom, Not The Disease.

It Was A Grand Old House, The Ayemenem House, But Aloof-looking. As Though It Had Little To Do With The People Who Lived In It. Like An Old Man With Rheumy Eyes Watching Children Play, Seeing Only Transience In Their Shrill Elation And Their Whole-hearted Commitment To Life.

A Sparrow Lay Dead On The Backseat. She Had Found Her Way Through A Hole In The Windscreen, Tempted By Some Seat-sponge For Her Nest. She Never Found Her Way Out. No One Noticed Her Panicked Car-window Appeals. She Died On The Backseat, With Her Legs In The Air. Like A Joke.

Your Short-term Gains Are The Rest Of The World's Long-term Disasters - For Everybody, Including Yourselves. And, I'm Sorry, I've Been Saying You And The United States Or America, When I Actually Mean The Us Government. There's A Difference. Big One.

They All Broke The Rules. They All Crossed Into Forbidden Territory. They All Tampered With The Laws That Lay Down Who Should Be Loved And How. And How Much. The Laws That Make Grandmothers Grandmothers, Uncles Uncles, Mothers Mothers, Cousins Cousins, Jam Jam, And Jelly Jelly. It Was A Time When Uncles Became Fathers, Mothers Lovers, And Cousins Died And Had Funerals. It Was A Time When The Unthinkable Became Thinkable And The Impossible Really Happened.

Poverty Is A Crime And The Poor Are Terrorists