The photographs, the new phone videos--shaky, smoke-filled, filled with panicked people--of what happened in Boston. The blood-stained ice cream shop. The half-filled wine glasses on cafe tables. The latest count. The replaying, the "human interest" details, the famous football player who happened to be there, who carried a woman to safety--the what ifs, the tentative conclusions, the tiny details--a black thread found on the unexploded bomb--and, again out of nowhere, the letter filled with poison sent to a senator from Mississippi, detected before it could be delivered.

And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,
And then from hour to hour we rot and rot;
And thereby hangs a tale.

Thus, the sour Jacques from Twelfth Night.

That sour, that false to the mystery and pain--to a child killed, legs "de-gloved,"
people maimed--one moment whole, the next ripped apart.

No one has "claimed responsibility"--an awful, accurate phrase: the terrible, self-righteous pride in murder and mutilation--the triumph of an idea over life.

Allan DiBiase
4/17/2013 02:00:37 am

Boston: enveloped a long drive to Lebanon, NH to help a former colleague with "retirement plans". Had to avoid listening to the radio since even a small amount overwhelmed me.

Then had to gather wits enough to have a 90 minutes detailed conversation with our builder and Grace....which ended by Brad and I ascending a ladder and crawling into the stairless, barn loft. Mostly to determine the "knee wall" that's up there. Still fending off Boston but was subjected to the German, British and American news with far too many gruesome details. Then could not sleep and resorted to researching online hardware. Which was quite distracting....finding out how much there is, yet how what we want is not there.

Today I will continue to shield my eyes. It's a rolling series of music performances starting at 11 AM that won't end until 6:00 PM.

But, when the Boston news came in on Monday....we continued to affirm something we knew in the voice studio by turning off the radio and making music for 60 minutes. It was a healing reminder about the necessity of making, or perhaps it's a kind of making do, in the face of the bitterest reality.

Denise Smyth
4/17/2013 05:31:51 am

Something so unsettling about the picture with the post; so lonely, so endless; things seem benign but where's the path leading to? What's next? Someone told me the universe is benign. I think about that from time to time. Certainly we humans are not so kind. I don't think the universe is kind or unkind; it is as it is. Its harsh realities are hard to bear.

4/17/2013 05:41:28 am

Why not see it as an image of choice? Of possibilities?

Denise Smyth
4/17/2013 05:50:36 am

My mood, perhaps? It's the "mood" of the picture that attracts me to it. At first I thought it was a gray day, then I saw the hint of the shadows. I see the mystery there; but, as you point out, the way I interpret the mystery is up to me. Of course, my response seems to come from my belly, and therefore,pre-choice...Hey. I'm working on it.

4/18/2013 11:27:43 am

Boston is simply dreadful. I feel almost as numb as I did after 9/11. Hard to feel much of anything but deep sadness. We seem so vulnerable to attack


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