it occurs to me that my brother’s intermittent addiction to waiting caused him this insight: your real life comes true.  it occurs to me he remains a telepath.  a telepath whether or not I write as beautifully as he remembers.  he sleeps without a pillow claiming it gives his ear nothing to do.  he scratches his cheeks and says look at these they are the ribs of a pup I am caged in.  

     the future of war is war.