Those funny looking rocks are not rocks at all. They are tear gas grenades, a regular feature of the landscape—along with sundry other spent munitions, burnt earth, and squirmy, giant millipedes—in the parts I've just passed through. No comment on that for now, but watch this space for further updates. In the meantime, this from Dambudzo Marechera:
"Austerity. Austerity. Austerity. These drab rimless streets, the tainted asphalt of means that have no end. But austerity. Screwing the shit out of the cowering air. Here and there, eyes glaze over in wideawake stupor. Up down. Crunch the feet of soldiers. Austerely. Striding. The microphone deeper and deeper pushes into the dark lips. Speechifying. The ugly fact. Suddenly oozes. Flanked by Ministers. Licking. The blunt and abrupt cheer. Fucked into astonished silence. Down there in the towering sky, a bright disc blazes. Nerves. Moods. A palpable gloom. Blacker polished night. Revealing dentures. The dazzling sharkgrin words."
—Black Sunlight, 1980