by Larry C Johnson Preliminary, unconfirmed reports indicate a nuclear blast has occurred at Glasgow's international airport. No one has seen the mushroom cloud or heard the blast, but something by God is happening and it must be terrible. There is smoke and fire. In fact, a car is on fire. It must be Al Qaeda. Only Al Qaeda knows how to set themselves on fire inside a car. Please. Flee to the hills (leave you doors unlocked). Oh the humanity! UPDATE: As events unfold I'm simply asking that folks take a big deep breath and try to keep things in perspective. Are there jihadist extremists in the world who are willing to kill innocents? Absolutely. Are they amenable to negotiation? No. I am not in the, "have you hugged a terrorist today" camp. However, conference call unlimited e need to stop equating their hatred with actual capability. If today's events at Glasgow prove to be linked to the two non-events yesterday in London, then we should heave a sigh of relief. We may be witnessing the implosion of takfiri jihadists--religious fanatics who are incredibly inept. While I am not an explosives expert I am good friends with one of the world's foremost explosives experts. Propane tanks and petrol (gas for us Americans) can produce a dandy flame and a mighty boom but these are not the tools for making a car bomb long the lines of what we see detonating on a daily basis in Iraq.

Becalmed Night descends on whining knees The reckless children roam below Fearless as ants though michigan private detective ess purposeful Prolonging their giddy play in An epiphany of youth and death A purple wine upon the shallow hills Historic Hudson nuzzling by the land Becalmed in Tarrytown as I too am Seeking music’s absolution for my silence Bach’s thirty variations on a smile My sole companions in retreat I know my life is incomplete Elsewhere when I choose to listen The wounded howl the hungry moan In tongues I dare not understand I feel their plight but not their grief Instead guilt nestles close at hand I call it my inheritance Here in my safe encampment Powerless and exempt What would it take to fire my blood Now slow as doubt and coursing cold How might I raise refusal to an art And learn to cast denial out But here the blinds are neatly shut And I in fictive consolations bound Nightly dally with my electric slut Who strokes my twitching conscience I have heard the Symphony of Sorrowful Songs Music for an age of discontent Which spends its failing hours Divining what the god of evil meant I fear it is beyond my ken Not how my last days are bent Oh old young now then Sad happy women men Whom I must touch before I die No music can redeem me 1/6-7/9/95, 12/15-12/16/95, 4/8/98, 6/11/98, 7/12/98, 8/9-8/10/98, 6/23/00 Copyright 1995, 1998, 2000 by Maurice Leiter Posted with permission.

Becalmed Night descends on whining knees The reckless children roam below Fearless as ants though less purposeful Prolonging their giddy play in An epiphany of youth and death A purple wine upon the shallow hills Historic Hudson nuzzling by the land Becalmed in Tarrytown as I too am Seeking music’s absolution for my silence Bach’s thirty variations on a smile My sole companions in retreat I know my life is incomplete Elsewhere when I choose to listen The wounded howl the hungry moan In tongues I dare not understand I feel their plight but not their grief Instead guilt nestles close at hand I call it my inheritance Here in my safe encampment Powerless and exempt What would it take to fire my blood Now slow as doubt and coursing cold How might I raise refusal to an art And learn to cast denial out But here the blinds are neatly plant introduction hut And I in fictive consolations bound Nightly dally with my electric slut Who strokes my twitching conscience I have heard the Symphony of Sorrowful Songs Music for an age of discontent Which spends its failing hours Divining what the god of evil meant I fear it is beyond my ken Not how my last days are bent Oh old young now then Sad happy women men Whom I must touch before I die No music can redeem me 1/6-7/9/95, 12/15-12/16/95, 4/8/98, 6/11/98, 7/12/98, 8/9-8/10/98, 6/23/00 Copyright 1995, 1998, 2000 by Maurice Leiter Posted with permission.

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Becalmed Night descends on whining knees The reckless children roam below Fearless as ants though less purposeful Prolonging their giddy play in An epiphany of youth and death A purple wine upon the shallow hills Historic Hudson nuzzling by the land Becalmed in Tarrytown as I too am Seeking music’s absolution for my silence Bach’s thirty variations on a smile My sole companions in retreat I know my life is incomplete Elsewhere when I choose to listen The wounded howl the hungry moan In tongues I dare not understand I feel their plight but not their grief Instead guilt nestles close at hand I call it my inheritance Here in my safe encampment Powerless and exempt What would it take to fire my blood Now slow as doubt and coursing cold How might I raise refusal to an art And learn to cast denial out But here the blinds are neatly shut And I in fictive consolations bound Nightly dally with my electric slut Who strokes my twitching conscience I have heard the Symphony of Sorrowful Songs Music for an age of discontent Which spends its failing hours Divining what the god of evil meant I fear it is beyond my ken Not how my last days are bent Oh old young now then Sad happy women men Whom I must touch before I die No music can redeem me 1/6-7/9/95, 12/15-12/16/95, 4/8/98, 6/11/98, 7/12/98, 8/9-8/10/98, 6/23/00 Copyright 1995, 1998, 2000 by Maurice lead list eiter Posted with permission.