This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO


The student who shot dead at least 30 people at Virginia Tech sent a package to the US TV network NBC News on the day of the shootings, police said.
The package contained "disturbing" photographs, video and writings, NBC said, posted from the college campus between the two rounds of killings.
Cho Seung-hui is shown pointing guns at the camera, and ranting angrily.
A total of 33 people, including the gunman himself, died in shootings at two locations on Monday.
"You had a hundred billion chances and ways to have avoided today," the 23-year-old gunman said angrily, in an excerpt shown on NBC Nightly News. (

4 bombs kill 178 in Iraq
By Sinan Salaheddin The Associated Press

Baghdad - Four large bombs exploded in mostly Shiite areas of Baghdad today, killing at least 178 people and wounding scores - the deadliest day in the city since the start of the U.S.-Iraqi campaign to pacify the capital two months ago.
U.S. Defense Secretary Robert Gates called the bombings "horrifying" and accused al-Qaida of being behind them.
In the deadliest of the attacks, a parked car bomb detonated in a crowd of workers at the Sadriyah market in central Baghdad, killing at least 122 people and wounding 148, said Raad Muhsin, an official at Al-Kindi Hospital where the victims were taken.

When sorrows come,
they come not single spies,
But in battalions.
-W. Shakespeare

They are scattered all around us
Smeared on windshields and sidewalks.
Look now upon your hands and feet;
The ashes of this unfortunate world.
Up and down the streets they blow
From church to church and home to home
Awaiting the repeat of solemn gunfire
To devour the bodies down in yearning.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their bones.
-W. Shakespeare

Coursing ever so steady comes our bewilderment
Leading us into much that is relief
For their names may well have been our own
Crouched upon the merciless floor.
It moves inside of us like some dead thing

Giving crumbs to nourish our imaginings
Of those and their private room of horror,
But all of our shelter is paralyzed by battle.

Give sorrow words.

The grief that does not speak
Whispers the o're-fraught heart,

And bids it break.
-W. Shakespeare

Calling out now to clergy our urgent need for comfort.
“Speak of God. Why didn't he hold him from this rage?
Shroud the dead, place his hand over their cowering?”
Now the answer we’ve come to cherish, “God’s plan.”
Thirty-three? What of one hundred and seventy?
Does God find them worthy of nails through their palms,
To suffer a hell that can't be quenched in daily loss?
They are scattered about with our fingerprints upon them
And, as with so much of our beauty, a gun takes them away.

Our nation is somewhat sad,

But we're angry.
There's a certain level of blood lust,
But we won't let it drive our reaction.
We're steady,
Clear-eyed and patient, but pretty soon
We'll have to start displaying scalps.

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
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