Saturday, April 19, 2008


Something about that last photo op. It seems so familiar. What is it? I've, I've seen it before, I know. Oh. Yeah. Now I recall.

It's the fingers. The awkward gentleness of the hands. Where can I touch that won't hurt? Nowhere, really, but we have to do it. And we can't see his expression, but we know, we know the look on his face.


So I've bumped it up, again, from September, and before. Because we have to remember.


A Reminder:

Beslan. As a tourist spot it makes a great train station.

But people of a certain description looked upon it as a marvelous land of opportunity. Here's what they did with the school's gym:

That's an explosive charge hanging between the hoops. Hope nothing happens.

Oops. Hope it wasn't on purpose.

Well, maybe she's crying about her job?


How we cling to each other.

And to God.

Does it do any good?



Such passion is normal, and stirs the
blood like wine – think of it as exercise.
And yes that is blood, but after all, death is just
a part of the great circle anyway.
And it’s an interesting anatomy
lesson – look at the ears, look at the spine.
And look at the foolishness in the fingers of his right hand.

Well, no matter: because there is no evil,


never happened.



Sometimes I do go a little mad.

Forgive me for that, will you?


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