I Am Becoming Increasingly Difficult To Please

How You See A Country Depends On Whether You Are Driving Through It, Or Live In It. How You See A Country Depends On Whether Or Not You Can Leave It, If You Have To.

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.

You Can't Rewind War. It Spools On, And On, And On, Looping And Jumping, Distorted And Cracked With Age, And The Stories Contract Until Only The Nuggets Of Hatred Remain And No One Can Even Remember, Or Imagine, Why The War Was Organized In The First Place.

It's A Long Day's Drive Any Way You Look At It. With A Man Who Has Taken Your Sins - Real And Imagined - And Stitched Them Onto The Sackcloth Of His Own Soul, It Is Endless.

You Learn Not To Mourn Every Little Thing Out Here, Or You’d Never, Ever Stop Grieving.