One envies the soldiers at the end of the day, wiping the sweat and blood from their faces, counting the dead fallen to their hands, looking at the
devastated fields, the torn earth that seems to suffer and bleed
with them. One does, really. The final brutality of it--the taste of
primitive passion--the ferocious frankness of the blow struck with one's
hand--the direct call and the straight response. Well, the sea gave you
nothing of that, and seemed to pretend that there was nothing the matter
with the world.
Dirty fucking human nature.
-Jaison Cianelli
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