My camera is in a pawn shop dressed up as a poolhall, and that is why…

no more posts as of late. My HP ( Hijueputa) too. It doesn’t really matter. But life continues by the grace of God, and my frozen fingertips are only blinks of a donkeys long eyelash keyboard kiss.

So? So What? Miles, Hopper? Girl scout cookies? Photographs eveen…like snagglepuss used to say.

Punish your lack of attention for reading this.

Three hail Marys and 6 bloody ones to match.

See you on Sunday.

Is Islamic Fundamentalism Fuelling Terrorism?

Midnight Blues

Robert Pape is a leading expert on terrorism and suicide-bombing. He specializes in international security affairs and is a Professor in Political Science, Co-Director of the Program for International Security Politics at the University of Chicago.

source


Pape claims to have compiled the world’s first “database of every suicide bombing and attack around the globe from 1980 through 2003 — 315 attacks in all” (3). “The data show that there is little connection between suicide terrorism and Islamic fundamentalism, or any one of the world’s religions. . . . Rather, what nearly all suicide terrorist attacks have in common is a specific secular and strategic goal: to compel modern democracies to withdraw military forces from territory that the terrorists consider to be their homeland” (4). It is important that Americans understand this growing phenomenon (4-7). ¹

“[T]he taproot of suicide terrorism is nationalism” not religion (79). It is “an extreme strategy for national liberation” (80)…

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A statement on the state of things

Natalia Antonova

I dreamed that a former lover took me by the hair
Wrapped my hair around his wrist
Like a chain.
He beat the people he loved with me,
Beat them bloody
So that they could never hurt him again.
And in the melee
I wondered where he ended and I began.
I called my hairdresser and said,
“Pasha, why did you make my hair golden again,
So that it attracts the attention of thieves
And other people of questionable character?”
“Sanctions, my darling, sanctions,” Pasha said.
“We all have to invest our precious metals on the sly.”
I dreamed that my mother’s television
Detached itself from the wall as gracefully as it could
And volunteered to be my headstone.
My mother shook her head and said,
“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised by the situation,
As you know, someone is trying to steal our Arctic,
Just pack it away and…

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I have a cousin MIGZ…

and when he was a big, round headed, silent, big eyed baby being baptised, he was so scared he crapped all the way up his back from being carried. He lives in Japan now and is soon to be married.

He is a Christian. The way only a kid from a Colombian family who grew up in Miami can be. When I asked him how he came to Christianity he surprised me by telling me that he remembered a conversation he had with me. With ME of all people.

He said that he remembers saying about how religion was just a way to control people etc. He surely had expected me to agree or confirm this, considering that I was a pretty rotten apple.

I dont remember this conversation and was shocked at the answer I gave him apparently. It seems that I told him that there was more to it than that and that each person must find their own way to God, that the traffic on the way is irrelevant.

When he was a baby we used to jokingly call him the bishop because of his calm, wide-eyed serenity, truly a beautiful child.

He prayed for me on skype and im not making fun, and im praying for the most beautiful snow to adorn his wedding as a gift from me.

Crazy Mark Twain, Neal Cassidy, Burroughs invocations…may you have the last word, we’s allus gonna die anyhaus.

Ther was a time many mile markers from New Amsterdam ago, where in these here parts there were, what I can only call an abundance of game birds and game dogs. Now, im not talking about chained up pit-bulls rotting away in Philly or in anywheres in New York (Lord knows fools abound). Those sad, forgotten places where these beautiful beasts pay their pittance at the hands of man. Good blood rotting away in the hands of a blood lesser than. (and game-cocks included, Ive seen enough and I wont comment furthur but I will tell you that there are mirrors involved) What im talking about, is of a time a time when this long and winding road from the supposed city, would not let a peaton go by un noticed. I could tell from the re-lay race or telegraph of the sonar of a rooster or a dog, what time it was…or if someone was walking and surely at an un-Godly hour. Last thing I remember was straight up poisenings all around. My land is a burial ground. Dogs were let loose then at a certain hour, and if you were walking by necessity, this was your battle ground. I can hear serenades from where I am right now, but im sure its about how one man is gonna cut another down. Amanecera, y veremos. Ive been in all types of ant farms, from Liberty City and Overtown to…well, lets just say the rain is good in washing away our sins. It justed started to rain as I write this. One thousand little kiity paw prints on my tin roof. And I leave you with this…Where you thought you came from, is no longer there. Where you thought you were going, well…it wasn’t there to begin with. And where youre at…aint worth a shit unless YOU CAN GET AWAY FROM IT!