Someone once said that language is a dusty, warped window-pane.  The clear light of our thoughts is twisted.  We can never communicate perfectly.  I jest and you bleed.  You reconcile and I am offended.  If the human race ever dies, our gravestone will read, Why couldn’t they just listen to each other?

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I stood, slightly bewildered, on the docks.  It’s impossible not to be, when you’re a foreigner.  Which I am.  The Balkans are deep.  Their history, their culture, their secrets.  Their anceint feuds.  So deep that you could swim forever, always seeking something elusive, looking for the secret soul that is always just out of reach. […]

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