Dear reader, two Sundays in the future: you know vastly more than I do about what I mean when I say war. Do you envy me, living in this before, this last shred of relative innocence? I hope not. I hope I ought to envy you, the wild sweet peace you enjoy, the simultaneous epiphany of universal human amity and accord, the melting of all world guns into memorial sculpture which took place on, say, Sept. 16, the miracle that occurred in place of the carnage I’m dreading today. Oh, I hope I ought to envy you; I hope I’m a moron.9 failures of the imagination by B'klyn novelist Jonathan Lethem.
originally posted by xowie
