Ten Minutes to Hate

I am sitting in a darkened theatre beside the man I hope will love me one day. We are listening to the words of an American writer as interpreted by a South African actress in a pseudo American accent. She is talking of the life of a weasel, whose only battle is for survival. ‘I would like to be a weasel,’ she says, ‘with my mind blank and full of nothing. I would like to know what that feels like, no present or past, the minute forgotten as soon as it is past.’... Read more here