Making grand, sweeping pronouncements on the future of anything, let alone what’s going to happen to an entire country undergoing an unprecedented constitutional shift, is a mug’s game. There are too many unknowns, too many variables. Nobody knows how events will shake out, mere hours after a slim majority of Britons voted to leave the European Union. Anyone who says otherwise is at best a hopeless delusionist.
That said, my posting history suggests I am in fact a fatally misinformed drinking receptacle. So, in short, we’re all boned.
Continue reading “Brexit and Scapegoats”
Part 1 here.
Strange pictograms are there and gone, blinking past with whispers of rivers and mountains and temples. They squiggle and twist as Alice looks at them, squirming away when she tries. Then they vanish again, winking away as if they were never there, leaving only memories and unknowns.
What are you staring at? questions Veerle. The story of how a Dutch girl ended up with them was relayed to Alice at one point the night before. She thinks.
Alice mumbles back a reply.
The signs… they’re all in Chinese.
Yeah, it is notable, is it not? Still, I think since three or four years, there’s been a lot of Chinese investment here. Lots of Chinese companies doing business here.
Oh, cool, thanks.
Alice rests her head against the window of the bus and closes her eyes. The juddering just makes her headache worse, so she straightens back up again, but the sudden movement causes something in her stomach to shift and a wave of nausea rises up her throat.
It’s a lot different to when I was travelling in Asia, continues Veerle.
Ah, you are still feeling a little hangovered? Sure, you’ll need some rest.
Alice nods her head as much as she dares and closes her eyes again. The sickness swells like a rough ocean, billowing and roiling horribly. There’s an acrid smell hanging in the air, sweat and people and stale cigarette smoke.
Continue reading “Shinganga (Part 2)”