this diary is dedicated to all who suffer because of war

we love and support our troops, just as we love and support the Iraqi people – without exception, or precondition, or judgment

we have no sympathy for the devil

image and poem below the fold

Haqi Ismaeel closes the eyes of his killed three-year-old daughter Shayma, outside a hospital in Baqouba, Iraq, Wednesday, Dec. 6, 2006. Shayma was killed and three other family members were wounded as they were court in crossfire when clashes erupted between U.S. forces and gunmen in western Baqouba, some 60 kilometers (35 miles) northeast of Baghdad.
(AP Photo/Adam Hadei)

an excerpt from “Notebook of a Return to the Native Land”
by Aimé Césaire
translated by Annette Smith and Clayton Eshleman

 At the end of daybreak, on this very fragile earth thickness
exceeded in a humiliating way by its grandiose future–the vol-
canoes will explode, the naked water will bear away the ripe
sun stains and nothing will be left but a tepid bubbling pecked
at by sea birds–the beach of dreams and the insane awakening.

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