I don't want to speak about his divinity; I'd rather speak of his humanity
Projection minus reflection equals conjecture
an injection no muscle can reject
The demon girl was like and unlike what I imagined one
of them to be. She seemed like a dwarf copy of her aunt and her
red face looked like a lantern that had been filled with blood
Angst staples symmetry at that prominent climb. Winded , finally,
their barred hymnal, but there were often denials of several
years when a moon declined and when his bad got hipped
hum. There was a symmetry where the coughings were temporally barred
I heard one person compare it to being on the moon.
It was that kind of desolate feeling – just looking at
huge hills of rubble: of brick and broken wooden slats
that had once been houses. On top of the piles we would
see the random collection of things that had survived
The streets of Baghdad were deserted, except for an occasional
car speeding along. One imagined the driver painfully aware of the
thin veneer of metal and fabric over his head, useless against
huge fragments of metal roaring down silently from the sky. The
buildings waited obediently. I found myself choosing one to look at.
Would the roulette ball stop on this slot, or skitter on one more?
If I have to choose between shock
and awe, I choose shock that anyone’s awed
by the awful barrage on Baghdad. Anyway you look –
show again and again over all the networks – death
is death, black and white, never beautiful,
more awfully precise
than any million dollar American munitions
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