Between the wars, I hung around in an air-conditioned room. It was tiny, and I was shoved to the back, but after living outside on another man's back for months of bullets and bombs, I welcomed the stuffiness. White paint kept close walls from reminding me of the trenches'…

The Americans don't want us. They want knowledge. They want to eat with us. They want technology and weapons. They want the results of research they themselves are too craven to perform, answers to questions they ask themselves in whispers, in the dark. T

Between the commercials, the local news is rampant with fusillade of bullets going raving mad, driven by some Machiavellian brainfuck, or bombshells smiling down with angels in black; emoticons of solid metal and pride. But you would put your faith in…

“Don't kill anything unless you are planning to eat it,” was the white unicorn's favorite line in Crocodile Dundee. Inspired, the unicorn awkwardly climbed on a box that still smelled faintly of the green apple glycerin soap it had once contained. …

Then we went on a rampage.

Now I'm out of fuel and on the side of the road, walking into the darkened trees, smearing mud on myself. I live in the forest now, I'll make a weapon from a simple rock and prosper.

I tell you that wasn’t even on my mind, but move out of an inverted tree pose and wrap both my legs around you, girlfriend style.

“The King,” he paused, pursed his lips, looked across the crowd of eager and fearful citizens of Ki, “is dead!”