I Listen Mostly To Classical

Once, I Discovered The Skulls Of Two Impala Rams, Their Horns Locked Into An Irreversible Figure-of-eight; The Two Animals Had Been Trapped In Combat, Latched To Each Other During The Battle Of The Rut. The Harder They Had Pulled To Escape From Each Other, The More Intractably Stuck They Were, Until They Had Fallen Exhausted, To Their Knees, In An Embrace Of Hatred That Had Killed Them Both.

In General, I Almost Always Watch Foreign Films.

People Who Disagree With His Excellency, The President For Life And 'chief Of Chiefs,' Are Frequently Found To Be The Victims Of Car Crashes (their Bodies Mysteriously Riddled With Bullets); Or Dead In Their Beds Of Heart Attacks (their Bodies Mysteriously Riddled With Bullets); Or The Recipients Of Some Not-quite-fresh Seafood (their Bodies Mysteriously Riddled With Bullets).

The Land Itself, Of Course, Was Careless Of Its Name. It Still Is. You Can Call It What You Like, Fight All The Wars You Want In Its Name. Change Its Name Altogether If You Like. The Land Is Still Unblinking Under The African Sky. It Will Absorb White Man's Blood And The Blood Of African Men, It Will Absorb Blood From Slaughtered Cattle And The Blood From A Woman's Birthing With Equal Thirst. It Doesn't Care.

Surely Until All Of Us Own And Honor One Another's Dead, Until We Have Admitted To Our Murders And Forgiven One Another And Ourselves For What We Have Done, There Can Be No Truce, No Dignity And No Peace.