A jungle held in long shot … the distorted echo of choppers, swarming like birds of prey … satanic vultures … a dreamy strumming, sexy in its coldness … and suddenly the jungle explodes, a firewall of smoke and flame, a silent conflagration as we hear only music … this is the end … beautiful friend, the end.… The moment is seductive in its horror, hypnotic. The destruction rivets us, slack-jawed, as we simultaneously recoil. It is senseless, it exists for itself, it has no assigned goal or purpose.… There may have once been a reason for it – maybe Charlie’s in the jungle or maybe he isn’t – but now it doesn’t matter: all motive and reason has evaporated in the hazy swamp, this vaporous no-man’s-land.…