Italy joins the ranks of the newly sane, repeals anti-pot laws

Italy Strikes Down Insane Anti-Pot Laws
By Preston Peet
February 14, 2014

 

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On Wednesday, February 12, 2014, Italy’s Constitutional Court dropped their anti-pot laws, potentially freeing up to 10000 prisoners, asserting that the laws as they’ve stood since 2006 were “illegitimate.”

In 2006, pot sentences were tripled, making the repercussions for being caught with marijuana as bad as being found with cocaine or heroin, and the penalties for all on par with one another. The new rules could potentially free up to 10,000 currently incarcerated prisoners. Up to 40% of prisoners currently locked up in Italy were for marijuana infractions, a number that simply boggles the mind.

Penalties for possession, cultivation and sales, once set at 2 to 6 years had shot up to an insane 6 to 20 years. Now that the law has been repealed, things go back to where they stood in 1993, when marijuana was still considered a “soft drug.” While neither law made consumption of pot illegal, both made the possession of pot very illegal.

 

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“The so-called drug war as conceived in North America has been lost and it’s time to return to rational rules that distinguish between substances,” said Franco Corleone, of the human rights group Society of Reason, to Reuters.
Senator Carlo Giovanardi, one of the designers of the draconian law, is not at all happy with the ruling, asserting that it’s a “devastating choice from a scientific viewpoint and in the message it sends to young people that some drugs are less dangerous than others,” proving that it’s not just US anti-drug zealots who have seemingly lost their minds.

The world is moving forward, and one day sooner than later, people will be looking back on the past few decades with wonder and awe, amazed that human beings could have been so ignorant and mean to their fellow citizens. Sociologists will be teaching courses comparing alcohol prohibition to our current wacky anti-pot laws. The day can’t come soon enough.

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Screw the Handicapped, Especially the Ones Getting Stoned! They Don’t Need to Work Anyway, Right?

Screw the Handicapped, Especially the Ones Getting Stoned!
They Don’t Need to Work Anyway, Right?

By Preston Peet
Nov. 22, 2013

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Unfortunately, some human beings seem to think that federal anti-pot statutes should trump Colorado medical marijuana laws, thereby taking the opportunity to royally screw a paralyzed, wheelchair bound young man obeying Colorado State laws to the letter.

This story is about the inspiring and determined Colorado resident Brandon Coats, a 34 year old Customer Service representative for the satellite television provider Dish Network Corp. (DISH). The higher ups at his job decided to administer Coats a drug test. Paralyzed in a car accident at 16, Coats explained to the company even before the test that he used prescribed medical marijuana, to ease muscle spasms, but would be happy to comply with a request by the company to undergo a saliva drug test. Coats was a customer service representative for the DISH company until he failed that drug test. He has remained unemployed ever since that test was administered three years ago, in 2010. Remember, this is Colorado, where the prescription Coats has for marijuana was legally obtained from his doctor.

“I had a doctor’s permission to do something I need to help me get on with my life,” said Coats. This has not stopped DISH from handing Coats his walking papers, firing him over the THC found in this saliva, because the company feels Coats’ use is against Federal law. Therefore, despite it being legal in Coats’ home state of Colorado it doesn’t matter, federal law trumps state law.

The Colorado Court of Appeals upheld his firing, ruling that even though Coats’ marijuana use was lawful under state law, it was prohibited by federal statute. The State Supreme court has yet to rule on Coats’ appeal.

“As a national company, DISH is committed to its drug-free workplace policy and compliance with federal law, which does not permit the use of marijuana, even for medicinal purposes,” wrote DISH spokesperson Bob Toevs in an email, explaining why it was necessary to put the paralyzed Coats out of work three years ago, and why the decision by the state court that his company having fired that dangerously paralyzed, probably subversive Coats was a good one, thanks to the antiquarian federal anti-pot laws still dirtying up the books.

According to the story about Coats at Bloomberg.com, there is a House bill from California Republican Dana Rohrabacher, which should give state marijuana laws priority over the U.S. Controlled Substances Act. Rohrabacher’s bill has 20 co-sponsors, “from Arizona Democrat Raul Grijalva, among the most liberal members of Congress, to Justin Amash of Michigan and Steve Stockman of Texas, both Republicans.”

So for now, Coats remains unemployed and the status of his appeal remains in limbo.

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Never to Late to Change a Mind

Never to Late to Change a Mind

by Preston Peet
August 8, 2013

National media doctor and anti-pot proponent Dr. Sanjay Goupta has changed his views about the use of medical marijuana. Once a stalwart proponent for the War, he is now apologizing for his previous stance, and is calling for change.

Over the years I’ve been reporting on the War on Marijuana in all its guises, I’ve been treated more than once as though I were harboring some unreal expectations. Grow up, I’d be told, because only stoners expect real change in this world. I’d laugh, shake my head, then continue reporting on, and advocating an end to the War. Dr. Goupta’s drastic 180 degree shift in opinion, since his penning an anti-medical marijuana screed for Time Magazine in 2007, should give heart to all the hard working activists across the United States.

“I apologize because I didn’t look hard enough, until now. I didn’t look far enough. I didn’t review papers from smaller labs in other countries doing some remarkable research, and I was too dismissive of the loud chorus of legitimate patients whose symptoms improved on cannabis,” writes Dr. Gupta in an essay published August 8 for CNN.com.

“Instead, I lumped them with the high-visibility malingerers, just looking to get high. I mistakenly believed the Drug Enforcement Agency listed marijuana as a schedule 1 substance because of sound scientific proof. Surely, they must have quality reasoning as to why marijuana is in the category of the most dangerous drugs that have ‘no accepted medicinal use and a high potential for abuse.’” He writes. “They didn’t have the science to support that claim, and I now know that when it comes to marijuana neither of those things are true. It doesn’t have a high potential for abuse, and there are very legitimate medical applications. In fact, sometimes marijuana is the only thing that works…. ”

Never give up hope that you too can change a prohibitionist’s mind about marijuana, medical or non alike. There is always hope, and it really is never too late.

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Disinformation Guide to Ancient Aliens, Lost Civilizations, Astonishing Archaeology and Hidden History- an excerpt

Disinformation Guide to Ancient Aliens, Lost Civilizations, Astonishing Archaeology and Hidden History- an excerpt

(copyright 2005/2013)

By Preston Peet

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“The goal of this anthology is not to present definitive answers to all, or even to any of the myriad mysteries and puzzling questions. Rather, the goal is to inspire you, the readers, to think and question archaeological and historical orthodoxy on any number of levels by offering alternative possibilities what are now the “acceptable” theories….”

….

The “Real” Past

“In recent years, archaeology has turned a great deal of its attention to theoretical musings, to examining its most basic assumptions. Are there any ‘facts’?” asks Paul G. Bahn in the forward to his 1995 collection 100 Great Archaeological Discoveries, (Barnes and Nobel Books), which, writes Bahn, details 100 of the most exciting discoveries made by archaeology in the last couple of centuries. “Can one say anything meaningful and objective about the past when studying (highly incomplete) evidence in the present?” But just a page later, after noting we cannot possibly really “know” human pre-history, Bahn then goes on to illustrate the way in which the mainstream often ostracizes and ridicules what Barbara Ann Clow, in her 2001 book Catastrophobia describes as the “new paradigm researchers,” (and who is herself definitely a “new paradigm researcher,”) by writing:

“A further motivation for producing a book of this kind is to be found in the recent re-emergence of the Von Danikenesque (Chariots of the God?) ‘God is a Spaceman’ message. We had hoped that books promoting the theory that anything impressive or bizarre in the archaeological record must be attributable to extraterrestrial visitors were a freak phenomenon of the 1970s, and that, having sold in tens of millions, they had faded away. Now, however, the success of the film Stargate (a science-fiction fantasy suggesting that ancient Egyptian civilization was produced by an extraterrestrial) and the unexpected appearance in the 1995 bestseller lists of Fingerprints of the Gods (a book arguing that the monuments of the ancient world were built 15,000 years ago by a race of super-beings whose lost civilization now lies in ruins beneath Antarctica) shows that the monster was merely dormant; it can easily awake and devour an army of gullible readers. So we hope a book that sets out the ‘real past,’ the astonishing variety of human achievements, the end-products of our ancestors’ sweat and ingenuity, will not only help explain what archaeologists do and why (albeit in a very incomplete fashion at that) but also go a little way towards counteracting this resurrected obsession without ascribing our heritage to fantasy super-humans.”

Besides his telling readers first that there’s no way to “know the real past,” then decreeing what should be considered “real” when studying the past, Bahn is blatantly misrepresenting Hancock’s theories put forth in Fingerprints of the Gods, in which Hancock never wrote anything about “super-humans,” but rather examined the possibility that humanity had progressed into a fairly advanced maritime civilization or even more than one civilization during those thousands upon thousands of years between the appearance of apparently “modern” humans and what appears to have been cataclysmic changes on the Earth at the end of the last ice age about 12,000 or so years ago. Insulting too is Bahn’s assertion that Von Daniken’s idea (and Von Daniken is certainly not alone in his suspicions or he wouldn’t have sold those tens of millions of book Bahn almost jealously mentions) that extraterrestrials might have visited and interacted with people in some way on Earth at some point in the mists of prehistory as being beyond consideration is merely condescending—with the vast number of stars and possibilities for different cultures having developed throughout the cosmos, who’s to say one way or the other whether such radical theories are wrong or crazy merely because they’re so “controversial” or “strange” or unacceptable to the status quo.

In the Disinformation Guide to Ancient Aliens, Lost Civilizations, Astonishing Archaeology and Hidden History, my goal is to illustrate that the “monster”—of questioning the established paradigm, and positing radical new ideas and theories—is not dormant nor dying, that it is alive and well, and that mainstream guardians of the status quo resorting to haughty statements of assuredness and sincerity and scorn of the outsider cannot hide the fact that there are unanswered questions and mysteries that abound about our pre-history, questions that haven’t come close to being answered by mainstream archaeology. The goal of this anthology is not to present definitive answers to all, or even to any of the myriad mysteries and puzzling questions. Rather, the goal is to inspire you, the readers, to think and question archaeological and historical orthodoxy on any number of levels by offering alternative possibilities to what are now the “acceptable” theories. Countless are the interpretations of the “extremely limited” evidence at hand, and many the mysteries and anomalies, (too many even for a collection as wide and varied as this book is to include within one cover), so that any theory or postulation is as valid as the next, since we cannot, as Bahn noted, “really know” our pre-history, that span of 100,000 to 200,000 years (and quite possibly even much longer) when modern human were walking the Earth supposedly waiting for that magic moment when civilization’s trappings suddenly took root and sprang up across the globe in scattered and supposedly disconnected locations amongst people totally independent of contact between one another on their separate continents. But we can take a look at these mysteries and wonder, and postulate and theorize and suggest conclusions from the evidence without having to worry about not being Politically Correct enough for those academics who insist that pre-history is a cut and dried story just missing a few minor details. 

Contributors such as Graham Hancock (Underworld, Talisman: Sacred Cities, Secret Faith, and Sign and the Seal), Colin Wilson (The Occult, From Atlantis to the Sphinx, and The Atlantis Blueprint, with Rand Flem-Ath), Frank Joseph (Survivors of Atlantis, and the Destruction of Atlantis), William R. Corliss (The Sourcebook Project, Ancient Man—A Handbook of Puzzling Artifacts, and Archeological Anomalies: Small Artifacts— Bone, Stone, Metal Artifacts, Footprints, High Technology), George Erikson (Atlantis in America), Christopher Dunn (the Giza Power Plant—Technologies of Ancient Egypt) and many more all examine an incredible number of alternative views to those promoted by the current defenders of mainstream paradigm, who insist only they can tell us what was happening during our “real” pre-historical stages. The contributors within these pages might not all agree with one another’s theories and ideas, but they do prove again and again that we human beings have not necessarily “evolved” from most primitive to most advanced, but have risen and fallen in fits and starts, rising to great heights only to be wiped out by some disaster, like a cometary strike or a massive flood or simply human stupidity, or any number of other great disasters that could have befallen the more advanced and primitive civilizations alike.

Catastrophe

“Biblical stories, apocalyptic visions, ancient art and scientific data all seem to intersect at around 2350 B.C., when one or more catastrophic events wiped out several advanced societies in Europe, Asia and Africa,” reports Robert Roy Britt at Space.com, (November 13, 1001). While some sort of strike by a large object from space has long been a theory to explain the sudden decline of many of the great early civilizations of the Ancient World, there was no “smoking gun” until the find by satellite imagery of a gargantuan, two mile wide crater left by a the impact of an extra-planetary object, either a comet or a comet’s “associated meteors storms” which slammed into what is now Iraq. “The Akkadian culture of Iraq, thought to be the world’s first empire, collapsed,” writes Britt. “The settlements of ancient Israel, gone. Mesopotamia, Earth’s original breadbasket, dust. Around the same time — a period called the Early Bronze Age—apocalyptic writings appeared, fueling religious beliefs that persist today.” The Epic of Gilgamesh, written at about this time, describes “the fire, brimstone and flood of possibly mythical events.” Britt reports, “Omens predicting the Akkadian collapse preserve a record that ‘many stars were falling from the sky.’ The ‘Curse of Akkad,’ dated to about 2200 B.C., speaks of ‘flaming potsherds raining from the sky.’ Roughly 2000 years later, the Jewish astronomer Rabbi bar Nachmani created what could be considered the first impact theory: That Noah’s Flood was triggered by two ‘stars’ that fell from the sky. ‘When God decided to bring about the Flood, He took two stars from Khima, threw them on Earth, and brought about the Flood.’”

If a worldwide calamity took place today, possibly leaving behind a few scattered remnants of more technologically advanced people to rebuild small communities and devices to try and forecast another disaster should it come, like perhaps ancient survivors of ancient advanced civilizations did when building the now enigmatic and mysterious megalithic temples and observatories around the globe, but mainly left those primitive peoples who, as is still the case today in late March, 2005, live in stone-age conditions in the remotest parts of the world, to tell the tale of what came before, to describe for their children and grandchildren the vast modern cities and technologies that were utterly destroyed in fiery cataclysm or sunk beneath the waves, how would future scientists interpret their stories, which would eventually become their myths? Would they do any better a job then we have? 

….

To read more, please buy the Disinformation Guide to Ancient Aliens, Lost Civilizations, Astonishing Archaeology and Hidden History here.

http://www.amazon.com/Disinformation-Ancient-Civilizations-Astonishing-Archaeology/dp/1938875036/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1375384837&sr=1-1&keywords=the+disinformation+guide+to+ancient+aliens

 

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Things Found

Things Found

By Preston Peet
July 31, 2013

Sometimes life puts hurdles in the path, obstacles which we human beings must claw and bite and climb over or through to continue moving forward. Other times though, it literally lays down gold.

Living in the city, my contact to the actual Earth is minimal, so buried treasures and lost civilizations I have not yet come across. Still, I have then and again found real lost treasures simply lying out in the open, from books to drugs to even gold.

One early evening, while living the life of a street bound junkie in the Lower East Side of New York City in the mid-90s, I spotted what I initially took to be one of those gold foil wrapped chocolate coins thrown to crowds during some parades I attended as a child. Rather than chocolate, upon stooping to pick up said coin from the gutter outside the mosque on 10th Street and First Avenue, it turned out to be a half-ounce gold Chinese Panda coin. I ended up selling it in a 24 hour pawn shop on Avenue B just before the break of dawn the next morning, after carrying it around in my pocket all night, in withdrawals of the very worst sort while thinking there was no way it was real, but still interesting enough a find to hold on to. Once I showed it to another street punk, who nearly leapt out of his skin when I pulled it out and asked his opinion, my interest in keeping the coin disappeared as I could only think about how well I could get him and me both. I allowed myself to get seriously ripped off on the price (embarrassingly enough, a mere $80), but since it was found treasure, I cannot complain, as sorry as I still feel at times at my putting myself in such straights where I’d not hesitate to let go of something so unique to me for such a pathetic pittance.

I’ve found cash, from mere quarters to envelopes containing up to a bit over a hundred bucks. I’ve found a single diamond earring, gold bracelets, and necklaces and rings too. Bags of marijuana both good and bad, not to mention heroin and cocaine, I have found at one time or another. I found an old, leather bound bible once that was a good 150 years old, in remarkably good condition, that I carried around with me on the streets for a couple days, hefting that huge, heavy load with me trying to sell it to no avail, eventually leaving it on some stoop for the next entrepreneur and/or lover of books to find.

Greatly enjoying stories of lost treasures found by individuals, often not looking for said treasures but stumbling over them anyway, I’ve long wanted to dive for pirate ships, or dig up some ancient burial ground. Better, I’d dearly love discovering a completely anomalous, out of place oopart or two, or discovering some long lost temple or religious artifacts, or most exciting for me, some legendary lost buried or sunken city, or a totally unknown civilization even.

More a sometimes armchair, sometimes city crawling explorer than an active globetrotting archaeologist, I shall continue to keep my eyes peeled as I make my way along the spiral of life, knowing full well that at any moment, any time and in nearly every place, the possibility of some new discovery either good for my finances or to satisfy my itch for knowledge is there, waiting for my next step to fall.

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Oh, the games people play

Oh, the games people play.

How many times have I found myself sitting, staring blankly into space, idealizing suicide? I can’t come close to counting up the number of instances I’ve engaged in this activity.

Some have said this is a bad sign, that I should be happier, less morose. I’m not so sure. I think, sometimes, that this is a healthy release, much healthier than actually carrying through with it.

Planning it out in my head, I’ve envisioned so many ways to do it.
Picturing the barrel against the back of my skull, I can feel the weight of the pistol in my hand. I wouldn’t want to wind up like that poor kid who tried to kill himself after listening to Judas Priest and blew his face off, but survived. That would suck. So I’d be sure to aim at the lower rear of my skull of course, as I’ve recently read that’s the most likely spot to be fatal when shot in the head. Still, I live in NYC, so buying a handgun is problematic, seeing as I’m not a hard core gangster, only a mildly across the line pseudo-criminal sort.

As with a gunshot, cutting veins would also leave a major mess. It would also be much more painful, take a lot longer to go out, leaving me too much time for regrets and second guessing. Having already failed miserably at this at least once in my checkered past, I’d rather not take up a blade.

Drinking poison is not an option. I have enough trouble swallowing actual food. Trying to gag down some drain cleaner or rat poison is not appealing in the slightest.

Hanging myself is a no go. The thought of doing the gallows dance is seriously unappealing.

It’s the same with leaping off high places. When I get to the jumping thoughts, I usually realize I’m merely playing a psycho game with myself (certainly with myself, since I never let anyone else know about these thoughts). I am surrounded by tall buildings and soaring bridges here, with plenty of places to choose from where I’d be sure to get it right, and have the leap into space end in serious finality. No matter how down I may feel, as I have not ever gone ahead and climbed to the roof of a building here, this is when I realize I’m probably not serious about suicide.

The one way most folk who know me would think I’d be most likely to go would be from an intentional overdose from drugs. With my luck though, I’d most likely write a lyrical note, buy a bundle of heroin, do it all and nod out, only to wake up to someone bitching me out for nodding out at my computer, again, broke and alive and embarrassed too. Probably in withdrawals as well.

I’d love to set it up so people would debate and argue about whether I’d committed suicide, or had been suicided.

The thought of my cats wandering confusedly around my cooling, lifeless, mangled corpse totally turns me off, so I guess I’ll enjoy yet another sunny day instead, pondering questions about life, death and taxes.

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Intangible but Oppressive by Preston Peet Sept 13, 2001 (first published in “09/11 8:48AM- Documenting America’s Greatest Tragedy”- pub. 2001)

http://www.amazon.com/09-11-Documenting-Americas-Greatest/dp/1591090113

Intangible but Oppressive

by Preston Peet
Sept 13, 2001
(first published in “09/11 8:48AM- Documenting America’s Greatest Tragedy”- pub. 2001)

The sense of disbelief I feel when I look out my window while typing reminds me of the smoke plume still rising from the downtown NYC skyline tonight nearly 60 hours after the first jetliner plowed into the World Trade Center: Intangible and hard to grasp, but oppressive and overwhelming just the same. The reality of the Towers was firm, an everyday thing. They were always within view from just about anywhere on the island, but that reality has been eradicated permanently. It’s hard to grasp even now, but the silence of the streets outside, the stench of smoke wafting in, and that huge empty hole in the city skyline all slap me with reminders. The World Trade Center is no more..

Just before 10AM Tuesday a message was left on our answering machine. “Please call. I’m worried about you in the city,” said my girlfriend’s mother. Wondering what she was talking about, my girlfriend got out of bed and strolled to the front room to play back the message, flipping on the TV as she did. Seeing the WTC burning on the screen, she leaned over and took a look out the window. When we moved into this apartment last year, we’d both commented on how great a view we had of the WTC. She called me with an urgency that brought me running. Tower 2 had just fallen, the resultant cloud of dust and smoke nearly obscuring the fact from our window, but Tower 1 was clearly on fire like a giant torch, flames visible through unfathomable, gaping, jagged holes multiple stories large way up high in the sides of the Tower.

Already, as I threw on some clothes, my mind was trying to wrap itself around what was happening, imagining how odd it was going to look with just the one Tower standing. The TV was blaring alarming reports of a plane or, as I subsequently found out, two planes, striking the Towers, of another hitting the Pentagon, of a car bomb outside the US State Department, a fire on the Washington Mall, and up to a total of eight jets out of contact with air traffic controllers and possibly hijacked by knife-wielding terrorists. President Bush was speaking at a school I attended in my hometown of Sarasota, and it was my birthday. The whole thing was just too surreal, but it got even more so very quickly.

Grabbing a camera, I tore up the stairs to the roof, where the unobstructed view from just south of Houston Street allowed me to begin snapping photos. The crystal clear blue sky had a roiling black wound on it spreading to the south, ugly black smoke that rose into the air from the one remaining Tower and the empty hole beside it, pouring east across the water to cover Staten Island. The scene was something from a dream, a nightmare, so utterly beyond anything that I ever expected to be witness to that I could only stare, snapping away with my camera, thinking of the people on what I now knew to be two planes diving into the Towers, one after the other. Another tenant who witnessed the second jet slam into Tower 2 described it to me, the horror etched on her face as she related seeing the second plane deliberately crash headlong at high speed into the side of the Tower, then explode in a huge ball of flame and debris. After a few minutes upstairs, people from all around me on my roof and many of the surrounding buildings began screaming, “Oh God, there is goes!” Quickly raising my camera, I took pictures as Tower 1 cracked, broke, and began to crumble in what appeared to me from my vantage point slow motion onto downtown Manhattan below. Then all I could say over and over was, “Those poor people, all those poor people,” as a writhing cloud of hell on Earth covered the lower part of Manhattan like a living animal, obliterating many of the remaining high-rise buildings from view.

I’m grateful I didn’t witness the people falling from the upper floors where I stood, and even more so that I don’t live south of Canal Street, now the northern border of a 5-mile crime scene and disaster area cordoned off by police and National Guard units. Until Wednesday night, we couldn’t even smell the smoke here. But we sure saw the people fleeing on foot through Manhattan that morning. Avenue A had more pedestrian traffic than I’ve been in almost eight years in New York City. Most had paper masks covering their faces or hanging around the necks with their loosened ties and collars, many were covered in soot and dust, and all had an eerie, somber air to them, tense and confused. Military jets were crisscrossing periodically overhead, adding to the air of siege that permeated the city.

Walking across the island a few hour later, seeing the pall on the lower horizon each time we crossed an avenue affording us a view of the sky formerly hidden by the WTC, it felt like being on the largest movie set imaginable,. The massive destruction and the audacity of the attacks both here and on the Pentagon, the loss of life estimated into the tens of thousands, were all so chilling, so abominable, it was almost too much to register, and still is. The scenes of family and loved ones cramming the hospitals and recovery sites in one of the largest, most modern cities in the US and the world, hoping beyond hope to find lost loved ones who somehow managed to survive two 110 story tall Towers and another 47-floor tower all collapsing on top of them, are heart-wrenching, threatening to rip tears from my eyes as each fiancé, mother, sister, and cousin appears gazing forlornly into the television cameras, plaintively holding out their photocopied, phone-numbered pieces of paper with pictures of loved ones. Is this how the victims of US bombings around the world feel when they begin to realize their neighbors, friends, family and loved ones aren’t coming home again?

[In the original piece I turned in, there was one more paragraph, noting my thought on how as long as the US acts unilaterally around the world, spraying poisons on South and Central American countries, or nearly daily dropping bombs and missiles on countries like Iraq, who could we here in the US be surprised that this sort of attack would happen? Unfortunately, the editors of this book, published with the idea that all sales proceeds were to go to help victims of the attacks and their families, seemed to feel that last bit was “off message” so they edited it out, and now I cannot find it. Granted, this was 12 years ago, and time has a way of swallowing things up. Still, I meant it then and still mean it now. As long as the US acts like policeman to the world, there are going to be a LOT of pissed off people who want to hurt us and give us a taste of our own medicine. Not that this makes it right or justifies mass murder, but it surely can’t surprise people when other countries get angry and want to hit back in any way they can.

Murder is murder, whether face to face or ordered by governments. It’s way past time to consider ourselves a SINGLE HUMAN RACE, working to better the world and life upon it, not a mixture of little nations all out to get one another. ]

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