Again

As I continue to assert, I'm immersed in a project and just don't want to disengage even long enough to chat for a few moments with you, my good buddy. Now don't be like that. But here's a little something from a couple of years ago, back when we still thought it was okay to try to save the world from tyranny. Ah, how young we were. Now we can shake our heads at the idea of our fond folly. We've come to our senses, and find there is no danger at all, and never was. We are the enemy. Thank you, Obama, for continually pointing that out on the world stage. Helpful.

And to drive this salient and salubrious truism even deeper into our hearts, there's this:

Submitted for your consideration,


How I love that young man.

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.

Beslan.

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?



Oh.







How we cling to each other.



And to God.



Does it do any good?


*****


Beslan

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,

this

never happened.


[9/7/04]

______



Sometimes I do go a little mad.

Forgive me for that, will you?


J