unfortunately, my car is not dead. it is simply cracked and bruised and fractured. the insurance man made sure to give the lowest estimate he possibly could, so that i would indeed pocket no money. i feel as though there should be some clause written into the semantics of insurance policies, that assures me a certain amount of money for my time spent dealing with the situation. of course it's all relative. i complain of such trivialities while the museum and library are reduced to ash in Baghdad. meanwhile, the US military machine guards the oil reserve building. how pathetic. the nearsightedness is staggering. when the oil runs out in fifty years or so, will it really have been worth the lost texts which were hundreds and hundreds of years old? the lost lives, and shattered economies, and borken heart of an already ailing nation state. this morning, i listen to Lucinda Williams, her fragile voice a slight breath from the belly of the earth. warm hands on the back. dusk in the springtime.

Posted by jeff at April 15, 2003 10:41 AM

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