For this issue there can be no table of contents. What you will find
is a day by day reaction, in poems and letters sent to the editor
beginning 11 September 2001, with a letter written by Maria Jacketti
just hours after the horrendous terrorist attack on the World Trade
Center in New York City, and the Pentagon in Washington, DC occurred,
and 26 September 2001 when the final poem in this issue by Janet I.
Buck "Cliff Notes For The Terrorists" was written. I will though
list the names of the contributors in the order of appearance:
Maria Jacketti (Jersey City, New Jersey, USA)
Moshe Benarroch (Jerusalem, Israel)
Janet I. Buck (USA)
Klaus J. Gerken (Ottawa, Canada)
Karen Alkalay-Gut (Tel Aviv, Israel)
Jack R. Wesdorp (Woodstock, New York State, USA)
You will notice that most of these letters and poems are from Maria
Jacketti. Maria not only lives in Jersey City, but she was on her
way into New York when this most reprehensible of all "acts of war"
occurred. Of all of us here she was closest to "ground zero", and her
letters and poems bring us closer to this tragedy than any of us
would ever want to be.
It cannot be stressed more strongly that we at Ygdrasil condemn this
most horrendous atrocity resulting in the loss of many thousands of
innocent lives. We send our deepest condolences to those affected
by this abomination. We must ensure that this can never happen again.
Om Mani Padme Hum.
Klaus J. Gerken
Date: Mon, 17 Sep 2001 10:40:46 -0400 From: Jack Wesdorp XVI Acts of terror are evil black magick designed to strike at the heart of your soul. It's a kind of mind control to trick you astray from your self-chosen path, to gall and enthrall you, to focus your eye on the act rather than its architect; and to lose your will power is to die of a fundamental eternal death. Never ignore evil. Strike at its root! For it will keep on coming back at will. Its will; not yours. Better to prune the shoot than hew a tree trunk. And if you must kill, before god make sure it's the right ones cleft; for religious evil weaves a cruel weft. Jack R. Wesdorp
Tue, 11 Sep 2001 07:23:59 -0700 From: "Maria Jacketti" Friends: I feel compelled to tell what I have seen from Bayonne. I took my daughter to lower Bayonne to see the towers. I hadn't my wallet, so I returned home, and Heard of the Pentagon bombing. As I getting ready to go to Jersey City to see this better, I witnessed the collapse of the tower. Laurel's Polish friend (her best friend) Peter -- his mother works in the towers -- and was on her way to work. The phone lines are bad. Tv is going on and off. There have been some tv warnings anthrax biological and chemical weapons in the smoke. US Military fighter planes are over New York and above us now. The bridges are closed. My husband is part of the terrorist triage team at Staten Island University Hospital; he cannot get home from Staten Island. Reports are now that there is a choking smoke coming from the disaster. I had one of my nicest anniversary dinners in the world trade center, at top the toppled tower at windows on the world. We were all going to go there for my next anniversary in December. I have a terrible feeling that this is not over. Warnings are coming through for people to leave Manhattan on foot. This I fear, is like Pearl Harbor repeated, but worse. Maria
Tue, 11 Sep 2001 19:46:44 +0300 From: "Moshe Benarroch" I cant help but send you this poem I wrote in 1998. Horses ~~~~~~ And they will come running galloping galloping gray black blue horses forgotten horses horses from all the centuries will come to crush everything they see women men and children and donkeys and foxes and dogs and cats Come they will Come horses and more horses and nobody will be able to stop them not atomic bombs nor gases nor chemicals nor viruses they will be the strongest horses that ever existed horses that recall all the injustices made and to be made and the man will ask Why in my time Why in my house Why my family and my children and nobody will be able to answer the blue horses, the celestial horses those will be the worst destroying 200 story buildings destroying tanks and planes blowing them apart and the president will calm and the specialists will analyze and the televisions will speak but nothing will help more and more horses will! l come out of nowhere horses appearing suddenly in front of people walking on the streets and you, in bed, you'll look at me despaired, waiting for rescue I will look at you and suddenly I will become a red horse.* Moshe Benarroh *Editor's note: published in a previous issue of Ygdrasil
Tue, 11 Sep 2001 10:59:21 -0700 From: "Maria Jacketti" Yesterday, The Twin Towers And Today Yesterday, we drove that familiar way, The extension of the Jersey Turnpike That gives the eye full of New York, its Lights, The Statue of Liberty, The Twin Towers.. Taking my daughter home from the hospital In Jersey City, she had given us the scare Of our lifetimes the night before-- We were tired, I slept at the hospital all night, And so hardly slept at all-- And so seeing them so the towers this last time, in tact, the those towers taken for granted For so long, I hardly acknowledged Them, so plain and so tall. I came to New York to study. And so I became New York, New York is tattooed on my heart. New York is the greatest city in the world. New York is the greatest city Ever to grace this planet. I could live and die in the face of New York, For New York offers me everything, Anything and all. This morning, I watched the Twin Towers burning, Arriving home to get my wallet, so I could Take to the turnpike for a better look, But it was already too late, I watched both crumble on the television. I used to pass through them every day When I taught school in New York, I had one spectacular anniversary dinner there, Shopped there for little things, Ate many a daily bagel with cheese there. And now, I am angry. I am angry.. I angry. I am angry like the old testament God. I am tired of immigrant students I have met In my classroom telling me how much they hate The United States and Americans. I would like to vaporize them, if you want to Know the truth. I am sick of those who speak the truth being Held hostage. Salman Rushdie. Fuck those who put the hit out on him. I mean fuck them. I mean erase them for the face of the Earth. And vaporize those who suppress the rights of women Worldwide. Give the women of Saudi Arabia The weapons to murder their husbands.today. Use the weapons. Vaporize them. Be the Old Testament God. I want them to die of thirst in the desert. I want those who killed the innocents Today in the tower to burn in nuclear fireballs. I only want neighbors who love this place. I want the borders closed. Now today this Minute. I am sick of the criticism of those beyond These borders; I want to cut out their tongues And feed them and their words to the dogs. I am American. Period. It is in the sound of my voice, In in my blood. As my grandparents Kissed this land to become Americans, so that goal Was achieved. We are nothing else but American. I do not understand these new immigrants Who pervert the values of this land, Those who have never read Jefferson, Pain, John Adams, Abigail Adams. And worse, those who have never ensouled Their words. I am sick of those who don't understand That we crushed tyranny, not once But time after time. And we will crush it again. For that is who we are, And we are deadly-- We are formidable, And like the God of the Old Testament We have lost our patience, And the world will cringe Before this holocaust today. The Towers will be rebuilt, And no one will touch us again. For today it all began. And I don't know where this will end. Or how. Maria Jacketti September 11, 2001
Tue, 11 Sep 2001 15:30:07 -0400 (EDT) From: "Janet Buck" America Under Siege ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 50,000 bodies trapped. Innocence in disarray. Falling, falling into smoke. This insane film on TV screens, its horror live. Gray diesel fumes of human terror. Floors peel off like onion skins. Interviews are skittish mice; voices cracking through the glass. No words exist and cameras roll. I see the bodies tumbling. Prayer in awkward somersaults clinging to our wooden pews. Yesterday I straightened tilted needlepoints, scrubbed clean counters with a sponge, erased the sugar on a spoon. Today my sister's livid tears are crawling crumbled continents. I wear them for my morning shower. Yesterday I fussed with tiny barbs of pain, silly spots of cappuccino laced with foolish whipping cream. by Janet I. Buck September 11, 2001
From: Klaus Gerken Sent: Tuesday, September 11, 2001 8:24 PM BLACK CLOUDS OF DEATH ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Head in my hands I am shaking No No No This cannot be Great clouds of death Envelope the innocent There is nothing That can justify this Not war not revenge Not even hate Only the great natural Disasters can be accepted This we cannot will not Must not accept This is not the will of Allah God or any divine being This is the murderous hand of man The murderous hand of ignorance Cowardice and fanaticism My eyes bleed for what I have seen My mind refuses to process What my eyes ache to notice But regardless of my incredulity I see I see I see And I weep shake and shiver At the callous cold and empty Shell of naked flesh that could See this in any way a justification For a cause Head in hand I shiver Shake and weep silent tears I would like to scream But my open mouth has no voice And the voice I do not have Is the voice of those who died And can never speak again And if they cannot describe Their Terror How Can I? Klaus J. Gerken
Wed, 12 Sep 2001 00:40:25 -0400 (EDT) From: "Janet Buck" Live on CNN ~~~~~~~~~~~ Little knives and gasoline. Paper-cutters tucked away. Innocence is used like darts applied to terror's target hole. Stolen soldiers change their bands, become unwitting swastikas. Rifled icebergs hurled at the ship we built that once advanced in majesty, mast around its knocking knees. To quote a correspondent's eyes, his twitching tongue: "No words exist." The cameras roll. Boats seem strangely casual jetting past stone statues of our liberty. Even in the wake of sin, a calm procession fills the screen. Prayer will be a metal bobbin spinning 'til a quilt is sewn. A nation weeps its willow leaves. Lips should be a match and are -- lighting candled unison. Long parades of oiled caskets lie ahead -- widows do a tribal dance. Moccasins and army boots will mark their footprints on this earth. Hymns askance but screeching tires, gluing rubber to the road. Hands should be a million links forming bracelets from the shame. Bodies pressed against this hurt is all we have for tourniquets. Streets deserted but for grief. Pictures of a flight attendant heading home for breakfast on her husband's birthday -- caught in hateful ricochet. He'll never munch on toast again, crack an egg without the mucus of a tear that might have held a butterfly. by Janet I. Buck September 11, 2001
Wed, 12 Sep 2001 05:18:34 -0700 From: "Maria Jacketti" Today there is just smoke over the skyline. The emptiness is unbearable. My instincts tell me that this is not over. Saint Peter's College, where I work, closed yesterday at 11. And all schools are closed today. The College, I understand was turned into a refugee center for stranded students and teachers. Beata, the mother of my Laurel's little friend Peter, works for the Bank of America, formerly located in the World Trade Center. She arrived to work just a little later than usual, just before the second plane hit. Even at that time, she witnessed people jumping from the upper windows, and then the crash. With the second crash, she had to turn and run for her life; she ran many blocks before stopping. She was able to get a ferry later in the day back to Jersey, which took her to Weehawken. From Weehawken, she had to walk to Jersey City. Transportation back here then became possible. Maria
Wed, 12 Sep 2001 17:37:32 -0700 From: "Maria Jacketti" Klaus: As I re-wrote the poem, only more hate emerged. You are the editor. You decide. It is a dangerous poem. Wed, 12 Sep 2001 17:52:56 -0700 (Final Revision) Yesterday, The Twin Towers Yesterday, we drove that familiar way, The extension of the Jersey Turnpike That gives the eye full of New York, its Lights, The Statue of Liberty, The Twin Towers.. Taking my child home from the hospital In Jersey City, she had given us the scare Of our lifetimes the night before-- We were tired, our nerves like The frayed edges of throw blanket-- I slept at the hospital all night covered In a guardian angel throw to extenuate The chills, Outside the skyline of Manhattan glimmered Audacious colors. And so I hardly slept at all And so seeing then coming home the towers this last time, In tact, Those towers taken for granted For so long, I hardly acknowledged Them, so plain and so tall and sparkling. . I came to New York to study. But what did I learn in the Village? New York is tattooed on my heart. New York is the crown chakra of America, Or the third eye. I am not sure. But as it spins, the nation, the world goes. This morning, I watched the Twin Towers, From there my "backyard" in Bayonne, In quick incineration, I watched, With my little one in tow, Seeing what she must see, the ultimate Grimm's Fairy tale, but this one without a moral, Or any morals, for that matter. I went home to get my wallet so I could Take to the Turnpike for a better look, If "better" is the word To move closer to the apocalypse, For I could see the the bodies in my mind's eye, Burning up, The officer workers, hanging out the high windows, And then with no real choice, Some holding hands, Choosing between death by fire or sky. And so one will always choose sky, Thinking that an errant angel will swoop by And scoop one up in her wings. But instead, a second plane came into The sky And although it held angels, Their hands were tied by the lackeys Of the Anti-Christ. At home, in search of a wallet, already too late, I watched both towers crumble on television. And I screamed for those whose screams Were smothered in smoke and steel And fusilage and prayers To a motherfucking false God That I would kill with bare hands And kill And kill And kill Until all memories of this god Be swept from the Earth. Hear me. I am not afraid of you. You will not attack my freedom. For soon you will cease to exist, And not even the comforts Of the Stone Age will make Room for your dungeon. So if you are wise, You will get out of my air space, And you will leave my soil. And you will stop breathing my air, And eating my crops. But I know you are not wise. I used to pass through those towers every day When I taught school in New York, I had one spectacular anniversary dinner High up there, next to the stars, and on ordinary days Shopped there for little things, Ate my daily bagel with cheese there, The best bagels in the world, Dear David, they could not make lifesavers, And we could not roll happily down to Earth In the comfort of so many bagels burnt to hell. And now, I am angry like the Old Testament God. Know me. I am America. I am Israel. And I am every freedom-loving Land in between. I am larger than you, and smarter, and Hungrier, And I am pregnant with the future, And you are going to another planet, Where you will make war on yourself And no doubt, learn nothing. And the new deities to come Will at last pen the books a-right. Fear me. I stand in New York Harbor, The goddess of America, Holding the torch of your final flames. Do not pray to me for mercy, For it is too late for your rhetoric. I am the Mother, And you are no one's child. You are born of excrement, Maggots on missiles. And if the truth would be known I would gladly be that Old Testament girl Guy incarnate, If God or Goddess passes me the sword, You will feel the happy murder of it, Justice! As you toss in your dreams of Hitler and Stalin, And all the lackeys that come in line--. For the seed of this doom is born in Europe And travels like a liar and infestation. I want you to die of thirst in the desert. I want those who killed the innocents Today in the tower to burn in fireballs Of enlightenment. I am sick of the anti-democratic criticism of those beyond these borders; I want to cut out their tongues and feed them and their words to the dogs. Where are the immigrants of my Grandparents' day, Those who literally kissed this soil For freedom's sake? Everyone else can go home; You have no place here. I will force feed them books, I will shove Jefferson, Paine, John Adams, Abigail Adams, down their scabrous throats, In the name of this new Allah, Who is surely not the Allah of the Koran. We are deadly in our love of freedom. And this is the end of the world you planned. It is time for your women to lift Their skirts And show off their cunts -- You have severed their clitorises And had them for hors d'ouevres. Your women hate you Even more than I do. And your own women, when the goddess comes To them, will murder you in your sleep. CanE28099t you see, you have left them barren? They bear children without souls. And so you will vanish from the Earth. And so I curse you. I curse you I curse you. The Old Testament God is coming She is the mother of the Dead, She is Shakti, She is Shiva, She is Ruth, She is Mary, The Daughter of Ann, And yes, she is the old Paleolithic one. Her womb is filled with the dead. And she will incinerate the desert, And the Clown of the Anti-Christ In Prague, The one who pulls the strings That will make his noose. I curse you with all the power Of the Word. Maria Jacketti September 11, 2001
Thu, 13 Sep 2001 09:36:37 +0300 From: "Moshe Benarroch" 11.9.2001 ~~~~~~~~~ Welcome to the 21st century welcome to to the new millennium it started today in the twin towers the big eagles are fighting back they don't like freedom they don't like rights they want us all wrong they want us all dead Welcome to the 21st century aliens from space need our DNA welcome to hidden foes to falling steel Welcome welcome, Marhabba have some tea to calm down welcome in the name of Allah have some coffee have some cookies Darna darkum, our home is your home let's die together in the name of Allah Welcome, welcome where have all the cowboys gone? They are looking for the flowers to put on the graves. MOSHE BENARROCH
Thu, 13 Sep 2001 11:10:05 +0300 (IDT) From: "Karen Alkalay-Gut" WHAT SHE SAW ~~~~~~~~~~~~ I stand here for generations watching the tired the poor the huddled masses pretending to look beyond them, into some ideal time when all learn the need for the progress of humanity, the need to include, accept, encompass. Its not that I don't think about it, but what I really watch is the island - developing slowly to transcend even my wildest dreams of liberty, the maturing, collective knowledge of the human mind in its service. Buildings grow - to accommodate, unite nations. The World Trade Center! The name alone was enough to give me reason for standing here, waiting, all these years. I see the setbacks too, the tragedies, the fires, the overwhelming struggles of people too close to each other, people needing to be free by suppressing someone else. But today, watching all the wonders of civilization enslaved to destroy themselves and others, is my worst. I will require great and steady vision to learn to see liberty again Karen Alkalay-Gut
Thu, 13 Sep 2001 04:23:06 -0700 From: "Maria Jacketti" The Feeling Watching the towers Burn from my city Five miles away I can only tell you That I could feel them burning I could feel the terror Of these strangers People I've never met formally I could hear them screaming One nation under God Where was he? My God My brothers and sisters. Maria Jacketti
Thu, 13 Sep 2001 12:36:40 -0700 From: "Maria Jacketti" Beata Comes Home to Peter ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Beata is a beautiful banker who has a beautiful son who went to work on a beautiful almost autumn day, departing from New Jersey to sell bonds to pay the bills and vouchsafe her career, all things done in honor, indeed because honor is the normal thing, the fuel that builds and sustains true civilizations. Beata watches over my daughter when she plays with Peter, and I, in turn, put my arm around Peter when he plays with Laurel, and in this we are like neighbors since the beginning of time, understanding that we must care for each other, or perish in solitude. And when Laurel and I watch the towers burning we cry out, Oh, Beata! Oh Peter! Let her be late for work God, let her get off the train and turn back For no reason because she has forgotten something even if she cannot remember what, let her hesitate this morning upon her ever-hurried path. And so, you might call it a miracle, eked out by moments measured precious but miserly for that window of self-rescue, the instinct for doom that makes one stop for a second cup of coffee or take some long moments to window shop, but time true enough to sustain escape -- Beata arrives just a little late to see the first spumes of flame, and bodies raining down from above, still not quite believing what is enfolding as above the second plane is piercing what could have been a Leggo structure, the flimsy cathedral of it, sending all running toward the pier, sending Beata in her suit and high heels running toward the waters that separate New York from Jersey, where after hours her turn to board the ferry would come like anesthesia, when she returns across the waves now a refugee among refugees in tattered business suits the ferry taking her just to the swollen lip of Weehawken, and so with feet already blistered by the carnage of travel, a journey never meant to happen in high heels, she walks back to Jersey City, to arrive in the arms of her child and her mother on this tenuous peninsula we call home, bittersweet. Maria Jacketti
Thu, 13 Sep 2001 12:46:23 -0700 From: "Maria Jacketti" Phantom Topography ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I came to the border of Manhattan From the anthracite mountains of Pennsylvania, from winters near lethal In their natural cruelty, From summers quickly over And done with From stingy Harvests of the best crop of joy We could sow In place so inhospitable, so cold, That Stoics' Club Med. The mountains, however, Provided armor from the rest Of the world, And in August, so briefly, All turned pink with the revelry of the mountain laurel, bringing even to the dour and intransigent a landscape of hope. Here I had no mountains to guide me, Just skyscrapers, growing like strange And wondrous flowers at the skyline, Which became the horizon. And so when I studied in the Village And frequently got lost in the twists And turns that take one from the wilds Of New York University To Wall Street, I looked for the towers, And like a child in a fairy tale, I always Found my way home. But today I am lost. There is a hole in the sky, And it is filled with phantom pain. I write this at work, where I sit Unable to work, unable to think, Unable to tame the frenzied unicorns racing through my mind. Closer to New York here Than before,my lungs burn from The air I'm inhaling. My lungs burn as I inhale Bits of bone, blood, memory, Clothes, particles of the corpses. I will walk back to my car Through this uncertain air, Through this uncertain geography, And at that point just before I enter The Saint Peter's College Armory, when my eyes Should behold the towers, My eyes will fill up with the place The smoke of the pulverized And incinerated dead, The empty sky, is not Empty at all, That place where the towers stood has become the tenements of the restless Dead. Oh Humpty Dumpty Urban mountains that I came to hold As my compass Where is home? Maria Jacketti
Thu, 13 Sep 2001 13:08:00 -0700 From: "Maria Jacketti" The End to My Christian Days ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Christ, if I must forgive this Then count me out of the fold, I have been tested And I have failed, And I fail this test happily, For it is a foolish test to give In the first place. For this I will never forgive them Or you -- With my last breath I will call not to you not for your Mercy, but for all mighty justice That in this case is retribution. I will call to the God who parted the Red Sea, To one the who sent the Flood. For I am more at home with the Jew In the pit of holocaust than with you, Except perhaps on the cross, That is where you have put us -- Those who hung from the buildings, And those who watched helplessly from below. Oh Prince of Peace, whose doctrines showed the way for Tibet, you were wrong, about this. Or prove me wrong. Now I test you. Show your face. Show us your stigmata. It has been three days now -- Come and resurrect the dead. I command you, Come and resurrect the dead. The subway will run for you. We will clear a path down Fifth Avenue, We will give you a mask To ease your breathing, For if you are really a man Your lungs will ache from this fallout. And we will stop for new regalia, Before the black rags covering Macey's. I will drive you in my car. Joshua, your chariot is waiting. Come now, while you are still welcome. Come on foot, Or in space ship. Show me what I am missing. In the gospel of Thomas, You said you came to bring a sword. My hand is extended. Give me that sword In duplication so that I can pass It on While this anger is still stronger Than heartbreak. Maria Jacketti
Fri, 14 Sep 2001 18:10:19 -0700 From: "Maria Jacketti" Candlelight Vigil John F. Kennedy Boulevard, Bayonne, New Jersey September 14, 2001 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ What does this mean The long street of flags Horns sounding, hands raising Candles of every color into sky Encircled by fighters? We have extras, Ah, we are rich in candles, As we would wish to be rich In enlightenment. We are giving away candles Tonight To strangers To mothers To solitary men To young kids who dress Like gang members, but tonight They say thank you Or no thank you, Three Arabic children, From the across The street, Come to us Waving American flags, They ask us for candles And we oblige Because these strangers Are our neighbors, And because we want To just to understand Maria Jacketti.
Fri, 14 Sep 2001 20:28:09 -0700 From: "Maria Jacketti" My Neighbor in Hazleton, Pennyslvania, 125 Miles Away From Ground Zero ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I have a house that was mother's house That was my house, That is my husband's house, My daughter house, A house I rent out now, 125 miles away in the mountains of Northeastern Pennsylvania. Behind my house lived a family That before they left their homestead In savage divorce Brought my cat Jasmine to my door, As a homeless kitten, The last of her litter to survive -- As soul called home again, Jasmine is the reincarnation Of my glorious black cat Kimba, Taken months before in virulent Cancer Only to be born again, In quickness of feline gestation That the human world cannot duplicate. And so Jasmine proves That there is a resurrection, And for that I love those querulous neighbors, For it was they who put The golden tiger in my hands, And proved through nothing More than transfer The fallacy of death -- When they divorced They sold the property to A family from distant not so Distant Jersey City Where I make a living So far from my home The patriarch -- he was a Puerto Rican man, Small, and dark, and Every cell of salt of the Earth, he Had the American dream enough To buy the lovely home, One far lovelier than mine, Through the brave art of Washing windows At the World Trade Center. He made a living that allowed Him to buy three homes And to take His youngest son out of The war zone of Jersey City, 125 miles away. And so sweet the man, a man Of the earth more than sky -- He cultivated his tomatoes vines And peppers and bright flowers With love on the weekends, And he built A goldfish pond of astonishing Ziggurat tiers That did delight my toddling daughter And he told me that My toddling daughter Was so much like his grandchildren -- A handful -- very much a handful -- And he was so good In the way he loved His son and wife and tomato vines And zinnias and marigolds, And thorny crimson roses, That now seem to me Trellised not in suburban art But as the bloody stigmata On a crucifix, self-composed, -- And I tell you today That he is gone That he is nowhere to be found And that his teenage son, The one he tried to save From the gangs of Jersey City Is crying on the television For his father, his popi, Who he knows is not coming home, On all three networks, This boy is crying, And on public television, too, And on the radio 125 miles away in my hometown of Hazleton Pennsylvania, whose only claim to Fame is being The second city in the world To install electric lights, All is dark now, Just one giant step behind New York, The first to shine. Maria Jacketti September 14, 2001
Sat, 15 Sep 2001 11:42:37 +0300 From: "Moshe Benarroch" I have used many of my best hours to defend Islam to my fellow Israelis. But this is not Islam as nazism is not Germany. This is an aberration of Islam, this is "Jihadism". The Twin Towers is neither the beginning nor the end of it. Many children, as were children in Germany, have been educated to hate all that is western, all that is free, all that is american and all that is jew. These children are willing to become martyrs for the sake of destroying America, and since they can't do that, just to kill people who are different from them. All these cam by surprise for the very simple reason (as Haari puts it) that evil recognizes the light but goodness doesn't recognize evil. We are not educated, nor programmed to believe that poor evil exists. Evil that all its wants is to destroy. I know very well that American are not perfect, that the american policy towards the arabs is not very nice, to say the least. But there were many explanation why Hitler was raising in the 30's, and many economical reasons, as well as the way WW1 was ended. But Hitler wasn't coming to power because of that, he was Lucifer using all these facts to destroy the world. As by chance, arab "Jihadism" started by killing jews, and many people explained that it was because of the Israeli occupation, and all kind of excuses. There have been many other occupations in this world in the 20th century, and still are, but it didn't create a movement that wants to destroy the world. We have to be very clear about the fact that "Jihadism" is not a response to anything and it should be destroyed as nazism was. Then a Marshall plan, and a better way to share the goodness an richness of this world could be proposed. But not before, my friends, not before. Moshe
Sun, 16 Sep 2001 08:58:16 -0700 From: "Maria Jacketti" To Pat Robertston, To Jerry Falwell ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Get out of my air space I am going to shoot down You know nothing of America, You bastards -- You vile fornication of all Things Christian and Jewish And simply good -- To defile us, here in the Face of the blast, To defile the dead With your comments Saying that God has Removed his mantle Of protection from America Due to the sins Of feminists, and homosexuals, And abortionists, And everyone else on your List that makes Up just everyone Else who continues to exist But for your brainwashed Followers -- And I tell you That it is you who should have been Aborted, And I tell you that your Mothers should have died In childbirth And done the world A favor, For each breath that you take and Each word that you speak Fouls the air And I tell If we ever walk on The same side Of the street That you may cross To the other side But I follow you With my words And they will strangle You -- And for your disgrace You stand not with good Americans -- But with those who did This deed, And those who hide, And I tell you That no matter where You go I will follow you, Until you leave this holy soil, The holiest soil of Earth now Where The Twin Towers Stood. Stay away. Maria Jacketti
Sun, 16 Sep 2001 08:42:12 -0700 From: "Maria Jacketti" Locamochalatte: A View from Jersey ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ My little girl called me This one day not more than A year ago As we played with the syllables Of Spanish and Italian, As I craved a cup of coffee And damned the addiction In my chosen beverage Of wakefulness and Vigilance -- All life is suffering The Buddha said, And Christ, although I have rebelled Against these words, I now believe He was right -- Only the the facades Of the world have Changed, I stand here in The New Age Of Aquarius A peaceful warrior Wounded Drinking the crazy Cup of coffee That bears my Nickname, All arsenic And absinthe -- It might As well contain The blood of Christ The blood of New Yorkers, The blood of my neighbors, The blood of the world And my last drop Of innocence That died On 9-11, Two thousand and one Right here Across the river, Across the street from it all In Jersey. Maria Jacketti September 16, 2001
Sat, 15 Sep 2001 10:01:33 -0700 From: "Maria Jacketti" This is just received and passed on by my husband from a Jersey City fire man, who takes his son to my daughter's karate on Saturdays. He is not lying. This is what is really happening: It was his first time home in Bayonne since Tues., where he has worked in excavation since the Bayonne and JC companies were called into NYC. According to him, the news released through press is a lie -- information is being held from the public, seemingly to not promote panic here. He knows of over 2,000 dead -- they are lined one city block long near the former WTC. Firefighters believe that the will be 17,000 dead, many, many non Americans. Thousands of ARabs and ARabic Americans are being detained. This information is not being given to the press. Imminent danger of sea wall collapse under the former WTC, structures holding water are unstable. They are hoping for the sea wall to hold. Stench of the decomposing dead in lower Manhattan is unbearable. I was to go grocery shopping in JC as I usually do on Saturdays, with sight of the towers before me. Wayne has advised against entering that part of JC. I wanted to get Wayne a gift. Monday is his birthday. Maria
Wed, 26 Sep 2001 22:25:16 -0400 (EDT) From: "Janet Buck" Cliff Notes for the Terrorists ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "We knew when the people were dead because their screaming stopped." Rudolf Hoess (German Commandant at Auschwitz) Ours is in its infancy. Numbers of the missing climb. The Holocaust returns to us. In the rubble, vapor calls. Ghosts are screaming in the conch of every sea that rolls the globe. Hitler grows a beard and lives. An embassy across the world, torched and looted, stripped of all its peaceful means; children dance inside a mosque. Trained to love this savage reign stealing water from our soil. I listen hard to CNN. Reporters with their tired eyes, flour sacks exploding in a kitchen nook. The torch is lit and armies march. You cannot cremate liberty. K-Mart sells the last of flags. It's time to pray. Rose of freedom opens jaws. The sale of guns is rising with the morning sun. I'm signing up for sewing school. by Janet I. Buck
Date: Mon, 24 Sep 2001 19:55:52 -0400 From: Jack Wesdorp Post Scriptum ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The questions to ask are: Who stands to gain? Who's making money off killing your kids? Who sells trigger-finger video games? And what kind of weaponry's up for bids? Who'd like you paranoid ebola plagued? Who's got tetracycline by the train load? Who's into keeping you caged and crack-raged? Who're you gonna vote for; gimme some names. Who's been priming kids with war movie crap? How's about them neat little anthrax kits. Can you hear Hollywood's, "Cut, that's a wrap!" Oh spoon-fed sheep-face, "needs more ass and tits." So, how many of you will eat that up, And love the blood-meal swill swirled in your cup. Jack R. Wesdorp
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. REMEMBERY: EPYLLION IN ANAMNESIS (1996), poems by Michael R. Collings . DYNASTY (1968), Poems by Klaus J. Gerken . THE WIZARD EXPLODED SONGBOOK (1969), songs by KJ Gerken . STREETS (1971), Poems by Klaus J. Gerken . BLOODLETTING (1972) poems by Klaus J. Gerken . ACTS (1972) a novel by Klaus J. Gerken . RITES (1974), a novel by Klaus J. Gerken . FULL BLACK Q (1975), a poem by KJ Gerken . ONE NEW FLASH OF LIGHT (1976), a play by KJ Gerken . THE BLACKED-OUT MIRROR (1979), a poem by Klaus J. Gerken . JOURNEY (1981), a poem by Klaus J. Gerken . LADIES (1983), a poem by Klaus J. Gerken . FRAGMENTS OF A BRIEF ENCOUNTER (1984), poems by KJ Gerken . THE BREAKING OF DESIRE (1986), poems by KJ Gerken . FURTHER SONGS (1986), songs by KJ Gerken . POEMS OF DESTRUCTION (1988), poems by KJ Gerken . THE AFFLICTED (1991), a poem by KJ Gerken . DIAMOND DOGS (1992), poems by KJ Gerken . KILLING FIELD (1992), a poem by KJ Gerken . BARDO (1994-1995), a poem by Klaus J. Gerken . FURTHER EVIDENCES (1995-1996) Poems by Klaus J. Gerken . CALIBAN'S ESCAPE AND OTHER POEMS (1996), by Klaus J. Gerken . CALIBAN'S DREAM (1996-1997), a poem by Klaus J. Gerken . THE LAST OLD MAN (1997), a novel by Klaus J. Gerken . WILL I EVER REMEMBER YOU? (1997), poems by Klaus J. Gerken . SONGS FOR THE LEGION (1998), song-poems by Klaus J. Gerken . REALITY OR DREAM? (1998), poems by Klaus J. Gerken . APRIL VIOLATIONS (1998), poems by Klaus J. Gerken . THE VOICE OF HUNGER (1998), a poem by Klaus J. Gerken . SHACKLED TO THE STONE, by Albrecht Haushofer - translated by JR Wesdorp . MZ-DMZ (1988), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy . DARK SIDE (1991), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy . STEEL REIGNS & STILL RAINS (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy . BLATANT VANITY (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy . ALIENATION OF AFFECTION (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy . LIVING LIFE AT FACE VALUE (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy . HATRED BLURRED (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy . CHOKING ON THE ASHES OF A RUNAWAY (1993), ramblings by I. Koshevoy . BORROWED FEELINGS BUYING TIME (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy . HARD ACT TO SWALLOW (1994), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy . HALL OF MIRRORS (1994), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy . ARTIFICIAL BUOYANCY (1994), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy . THE POETRY OF PEDRO SENA, poems by Pedro Sena . THE FILM REVIEWS, by Pedro Sena . THE SHORT STORIES, by Pedro Sena . INCANTATIONS, by Pedro Sena . POEMS (1970), poems by Franz Zorn All books are on disk and cost $10.00 each. Checks should be made out to the respective authors and orders will be forwarded by Ygdrasil Press. YGDRASIL MAGAZINE may also be ordered from the same address: $5.00 an issue to cover disk and mailing costs, also specify computer type (IBM or Mac), as well as disk size and density. Allow 2 weeks for delivery. Note that YGDRASIL MAGAZINE is free when downloaded from Ygdrasil's World-Wide Web site at http://users.synapse.net/~kgerken.
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