Originally recorded on August 4, transcribed below. (Note: The recording cuts off because a lady came by walking her dog so I had to stop talking to myself.)
Where do I begin? How do I begin here, at your beginning?
Your country is beautiful. I’m watching it now—green and lush. The sun is setting, the grass golden and the flowers are white in the field. Crows and pigeons call to each other and fly from tree to tree. The cows graze. The whole neighborhood smells of manure, homely and thick.
This is your country, and it’s beautiful.
Is this what you fought for?
Is this who you fought for?
In the mud, and the gas, is this what you thought of?