Patterico's Pontifications

6/26/2015

Terror Attacks In France And Tunisia

Filed under: General — Dana @ 10:01 am



[guest post by Dana]

A gruesome terror attack at a factory in France:

The severed head had Arabic writing scrawled across it and was found on a fence next to two jihadi banners.

Two other people were hurt in the explosion at the factory near Grenoble , said French President Francois Hollande.

The explosion in France was triggered when two attackers deliberately crashed a car into gas canisters, according to police.

One Islamist had been killed at the premises in Saint-Quentin-Fallavier, southeastern France. The main suspect, named as Yassin Salhi, 35, has been arrested.

Salhi was known to intelligence officials, and may have been radicalized.

President Hollande referred to it as “terrorism”, not “workplace violence”:

“The attack was of a terrorist nature since a body was discovered, decapitated and with inscriptions,”

Further, Interior Minister Cazeneuve, speaking from the scene, described the attack as “barbarous” and a “terrible terrorist crime”.

According to a reporter for the the Daily Telegraph:

“The person arrested was allegedly carrying a flag of the Islamic State and he said he was a member of the IS.”

This attack came shortly before “militants, feared to be from ISIS”, opened fire on sunbathers at a resort in Tunisia popular with Europeans, killing 28 people and injuring 36 others:

Witnesses said the terrorists used a jet ski and a boat to access the beach and hid their machine guns in parasols while dressed in Western clothing.

About the sole surviving gunman:

A Tunisian student, previously unknown to the security services, is the prime suspect in the massacre, Tunisia’s Secretary of State for Security, Rafik Chelly revealed.

Mr Chelly told Tunisia’s Mosaique FM radio station: ‘He is Tunisian, from the Kairouan region [in the centre of Tunisia]. He is a student. He was not known [to the security services].

‘He went to the beach, dressed like someone who is going for a swim and he had a parasol [sun umbrella] inside which he had his weapon. After he arrived at the beach, he used his weapon.’

–Dana

38 Responses to “Terror Attacks In France And Tunisia”

  1. Hello.

    Dana (86e864)

  2. These attacks obviously have nothing to do with Islam, which is a mostly peaceful, medieval, rapey death cult.

    daleyrocks (bf33e9)

  3. Also today, an IS suicide bomber hits a mosque in Kuwait killing 25 people and wounding 202 others right after midday prayers.

    Dana (86e864)

  4. Soon to arrive in a school or shopping center near you.

    mg (31009b)

  5. the religion of pieces.

    redc1c4 (269d8e)

  6. Religion of Peace®

    Colonel Haiku (2601c0)

  7. what will the reaction be when Islamic Fundamentalist do barbaric killings here in response to the SC guaranteeing the rights to moral depravity, as the IF sees it?

    seeRpea (181740)

  8. These attacks obviously have nothing to do with Islam, which is a mostly peaceful, medieval, rapey death cult.

    Islamists killing Muslims in countries where Sharia Law, if not absolutely codified, is the backbone of the legal system. Nope, I don’t see how we can blame Islam for this. I think it’s maybe the lack of jobs, or perhaps the U.S. relationship with Israel.

    JVW (8278a3)

  9. Do you think banning the Isis flag might help?

    elissa (ea46f3)

  10. banning a black flag?!?!? Racist!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    Colonel Haiku (2601c0)

  11. So today in the Western world the rainbow flag and the ISIS flag were both raised in triumph.

    And strangely enough, no one in the West will see the symbolic connection between the two.

    Liz (da89b8)

  12. Liz,

    Such an irony, no? And, no one will look at it in terms of our “mission” to degrade and destroy, which is having little impact…thus, the gays continue to be thrown off buildings.

    Dana (86e864)

  13. I think it’s maybe the lack of jobs, or perhaps the U.S. relationship with Israel.

    But the crusades.

    egd (1ad898)

  14. Not only are such incidents called workplace violence in the US, but decapitation by a Muslim of Coptic Christians has nothing to do with Sharia until proven so…

    http://www.snopes.com/politics/religion/ibrahim.asp

    MD (Really!!) not in Philly (522abd)

  15. ‘He went to the beach, dressed like someone who is going for a swim and he had a parasol [sun umbrella] inside which he had his weapon. After he arrived at the beach, he used his weapon.’
    Vigilant profiling could save your family.

    mg (31009b)

  16. A actually heard a (“not particularly” devout) muslim I know, say: “See how many one of ours can kill of yours?” But he was referring to the attacks on 9/11.

    felipe (56556d)

  17. I hope Walmart doesn’t ban anything,

    AZ Bob (52f2b6)

  18. Since so much of the left throughout the Western World makes lame excuses for or rationalizes away the disreputable nature of Islamism and Sharia Law (in spite of how reactionary it is), and since the left has inculcated political correctness to the point where anti-US, anti-Western, anti-Christian fanatics can have a field day (eg, a massacre at Fort Hood) or easily immigrate to Europe or the US, it seems somehow fitting — it seems only fair — if the left ends up the ultimate and unwitting victim of such extremism and (as the saying goes) very much hoisted by its own petard.

    Mark (a11af2)

  19. 35 Mile an Hour Town , pretty accurate i think about the present.

    seeRpea (0cf003)

  20. Playplace violence, that’s all. Move along.

    htom (4ca1fa)

  21. I’m wondering if the French victim was Jewish, or was someone whose name or face might make a Muslim think he was Jewish. Seems an obviously pertinent question. Has any ‘news’ agency even tried to answer it? I’m also wondering if he was the killer’s supervisor, or just a fellow employee. Does anyone know?

    Dr. Weevil (c83662)

  22. Has anyone seen more information on the Kuwait suicide terrorist?

    seeRpea (0cf003)

  23. He was a native of the Arabian peninsula.

    narciso (be2f2d)

  24. 19. I hope Walmart doesn’t ban anything,

    AZ Bob (52f2b6) — 6/26/2015 @ 8:02 pm

    I am so glad I stocked up on those Che Guevara and Castro t-shirts.

    Steve57 (ec1eac)

  25. Just soes you know, a six pack gets you a cab all day in Bahrain during Ramadan.

    Steve57 (ec1eac)

  26. Or, did. It’s been a while.

    Steve57 (ec1eac)

  27. 14. I think it’s maybe the lack of jobs, or perhaps the U.S. relationship with Israel.

    But the crusades.

    egd (1ad898) — 6/26/2015 @ 1:58 pm

    Egads, egd!

    Steve57 (ec1eac)

  28. I’m kind of limiting myself when I call my book Black Cats and Green Dragons.

    Steve57 (ec1eac)

  29. elissa, just in case you think I’m operating out of spite.

    http://destroyerhistory.org/flushdeck/green_dragons/

    I’m not.

    Steve57 (ec1eac)

  30. Steve, the Black Cats were….???

    And a poem for you.

    kishnevi (91d5c6)

  31. I think this has run out its copyrwrite.

    From the Sanskrkit:

    Even now
    My thought is all of this gold-tinted king’s daughter
    With garlands tissue and golden buds,
    Smoke tangles of her hair, and sleeping or waking
    Feet trembling in love, full of pale languor;
    My thought is clinging as to a lost learning
    Slipped down out of the minds of men,
    Labouring to bring her back into my soul.

    Even now
    If I see in my soul the citron-breasted fair one
    Still gold-tinted, her face like our night stars,
    Drawing unto her; her body beaten about with flame,
    Wounded by the flaring spear of love,
    My first of all by reason of her fresh years,
    Then is my heart buried alive in snow.

    Even now
    If my girl with lotus eyes came to me again
    Weary with the dear weight of young love,
    Again I would give her to these starved twins of arms
    And from her mouth drink down the heavy wine,
    As a reeling pirate bee in fluttered ease
    Steals up the honey from the nenuphar.

    Even now
    I bring her back, ah, wearied out with love
    So that her slim feet could not bear her up;
    Curved falls of her hair down on her white cheeks;
    In the confusion of her coloured vests
    Speaking that guarded giving up, and her scented arms
    Lay like cool bindweed over against my neck.

    Even now
    I bring her back to me in her quick shame,
    Hiding her bright face at the point of day;
    Making her grave eyes move in watered stars,
    For love’s great sleeplessness wandering all night,
    Seeming to sail gently, as that pink bird,
    Down the water of love in a harvest of lotus.

    Even now
    If I saw her lying all wide eyes
    And with collyrium the indent of her cheek
    Lengthened to the bright ear and her pale side
    So suffering the fever of my distance,
    Then would my love for her be ropes of flowers, and night
    A black-haired lover on the breasts of day.

    Even now
    I see the heavy startled hair of this reed-flute player
    Who curved her poppy lips to love dances,
    Having a youth’s face madding like the moon
    Lying at her full; limbs ever moving a little in love,
    Too slight, too delicate, tired with the small burden
    Of bearing love ever on white feet.

    Even now
    She is present to me on her beds,
    Balmed with the exhalation of a flattering musk,
    Rich with the curly essence of santal;
    Girl with eyes dazing as the seeded-wine,
    Showing as a pair of gentle nut-hatches
    Kissing each other with their bills, each hidden
    By turns within a little grasping mouth.

    Even now
    She swims back in the crowning hour of love
    All red with wine her lips have given to drink,
    Soft round the mouth with camphor and faint blue
    Tinted upon the lips, her slight body,
    Her great live eyes, the colourings of herself
    A clear perfection; sighs of musk outstealing
    And powdered wood spice heavy of Cashmir.

    Even now
    I see her; fair face blond like gold
    Rich with small lights, and tinted shadows surprised
    Over and over all of her; with glittering eyes
    All bright for love but very love-weary,
    As it were the conjuring disk of the moon when Rahu ceases
    With his dark stumbling-block to hide her rays.

    Even now
    She is art-magically present to my soul
    And that one word of strange heart’s ease, good-bye,
    That in the night, in loth moving to go,
    And bending over to a golden mouth,
    I said softly to the turned away
    Tenderly tired hair of this king’s daughter.

    Even now
    My eyes that hurry to see no more are painting, painting
    Faces of my lost girl. O golden rings,
    That tap against cheeks of small magnolia leaves,
    O whitest so soft parchment where
    My poor divorced lips have written excellent
    Stanzas of kisses, and will write no more.

    Even now
    Death sends me the flickering of powdery lids
    Over wild eyes and the pity of her slim body
    All broken up with the weariness of joy;
    The little red flowers of her breasts to be my comfort
    Moving above scarves, and for my sorrow
    Wet crimson lips that once I marked as mine.

    Even now
    By a cool noise of waters in the spring
    The asoka with young flowers that feign her fingers
    And bud in red; and in the green vest pearls kissing
    As it were rose leaves in the gardens of God; the shining at night
    Of white cheeks in the dark; smiles from light thoughts within,
    And her walking as of a swan; these trouble me.

    Even now
    The pleased intimacy of rough love
    Upon the patient glory of her form
    Racks me with memory; and her bright dress
    As it were yellow flame, which the white hand
    Shamefastly gathers in her rising haste,
    The slender grace of her departing feet.

    Even now
    When all my heavy heart is broken up
    I seem to see my prison walls breaking
    And then a light, and in that light a girl
    Her fingers busied about her hair, her cool white arms
    Faint rosy at the elbows, raised in the sunlight,
    And temperate eyes that wander far away.

    Even now
    I seem to see my prison walls come close,
    Built up of darkness, and against that darkness
    A girl no taller than my breast and very tired,
    Leaning upon the bed and smiling, feeding
    A little bird and lying slender as ash-trees,
    Sleepily aware as I told of the green
    Grapes and the small bright-coloured river flowers.

    Even now
    I see her, as I used, in her white palace
    Under black torches throwing cool red light,
    Woven with many flowers and tearing the dark.
    I see her rising, showing all her face
    Defiant timidly, saying clearly;
    Now I shall go to sleep, good-night, my ladies.

    Even now
    Though I am so far separate, a flight of birds
    Swinging from side to side over the valley trees,
    Passing my prison with their calling and crying,
    Bring me to see my girl. For very bird-like
    Is her song singing, and the state of a swan
    In her light walking, like the shaken wings
    Of a black eagle falls her nightly hair.

    Even now
    I know my princess was happy. I see her stand
    Touching her breasts with all her flower-soft fingers,
    Looking askance at me with smiling eyes.
    There is a god that arms him with a flower
    And she was stricken deep. Her, oh die here.
    Kiss me and I shall be purer than quick rivers.

    Even now
    They chatter her weakness through the two bazaars
    Who was so strong to love me. And small men
    That buy and sell for silver being slaves
    Crinkle the fat about their eyes; and yet
    No Prince of the Cities of the Sea has taken her,
    Leading to his grim bed. Little lonely one,
    You clung to me as a garment clings, my girl.

    Even now
    Only one dawn shall rise for me. The stars
    Revolve to-morrow’s night and I not heed.
    One brief cold watch beside an empty heart
    And that is all. This night she rests not well;
    Oh, sleep; for there is heaviness for all the world
    Except for the death-lighted heart of me.

    Even now
    My sole concern the slipping of her vests,
    Her little breasts the life beyond this life.
    One night of disarray in her green hems,
    Her golden cloths, outweighs the order of the earth,
    Making of none effect the tides of the sea.
    I have seen her enter the temple meekly and there seem
    The flag of flowers that veils the very god.

    Even now
    I mind the coming and talking of wise men from towers
    Where they had thought away their youth. And I, listening,
    Found not the salt of the whispers of my girl,
    Murmur of confused colours, as we lay near sleep;
    Little wise words and little witty words
    Wanton as water, honeyed with eagerness.

    Even now
    I call to mind her weariness in the morning
    Close lying in my arms, and tiredly smiling
    At my disjointed prayer for her small sake.
    Now in my morning the weariness of death
    Sends me to sleep. Had I made coffins
    I might have lived singing to three score.

    Even now
    The woodcutter and fisherman turn home,
    With on his axe the moon and in his dripping net
    Caught yellow moonlight. The purple flame of fire
    Calls them to love and sleep. From the hot town
    The maker of scant songs for bread wanders
    To lie under the clematis with his girl.
    The moon shines on her breasts, and I must die.

    Even now
    I have a need to make up prayers, to speak
    My last consideration of the world
    To the great thirteen gods, to make my balance
    Ere the soul journeys on. I kneel and say:
    Father of Light. Leave we it burning still
    That I may look at you. Mother of the Stars,
    Give me your feet to kiss; I love you, dear.

    Even now
    I seem to see the face of my lost girl
    With frightened eyes, like a wood wanderer,
    In travail with sorrowful waters, unwept tears
    Labouring to be born and fall; when white face turned
    And little ears caught at the far murmur,
    The pleased snarling of the tumult of dogs
    When I was buried away down the white road.

    Even now
    When slow rose-yellow moons looked out at night
    To guard the sheaves of harvest and mark down
    The peach’s fall, how calm she was and love worthy.
    Glass-coloured starlight falling as thin as dew
    Was wont to find us at the spirit’s starving time
    Slow straying in the orchard paths with love.

    Even now
    Love is a god and Rati the dark his bride;
    But once I found their child and she was fairer,
    That could so shine. And we were each to each
    Wonderful and a presence not yet felt
    In any dream. I knew the sunset earth
    But as a red gold ring to bear my emerald
    Within the little summer of my youth.

    Even now
    I marvel at the bravery of love,
    She, whose two feet might be held in one hand
    And all her body on a shield of the guards,
    Lashed like a gold panther taken in a pit
    Tearfully valiant, when I too was taken’
    Bearding her black-beard father in his wrath,
    Striking the soldiers with white impotent hands.

    Even now
    I mind that I loved cypress and roses, dear,
    The great blue mountains and the small grey hills,
    The sounding of the sea. Upon a day
    I saw strange eyes and hands like butterflies;
    For me at morning larks flew from the thyme
    And children came to bathe in little streams.

    Even now
    Sleep left me all these nights for your white bed
    And I am sure you sistered lay with sleep
    After much weeping. Piteous little love,
    Death is in the garden, time runs down,
    The year that simple and unexalted ran till now
    Ferments in winy autumn, and I must die.

    Even now
    I mind our going, full of bewilderment
    As who should walk from sleep into great light,
    Along the running of the winter river,
    A dying sun on the cool hurrying tide
    No more by green rushes delayed in dalliance,
    With a clear purpose in his flower-flecked length
    Informed, to reach Nirvana and the sea.

    Even now
    I love long black eyes that caress like silk,
    Ever and ever sad and laughing eyes,
    Whose lids make such sweet shadow when they close
    It seems another beautiful look of hers.
    I love a fresh mouth, ah, a scented mouth,
    And curving hair, subtle as a smoke,
    And light fingers, and laughter of green gems.

    Even now
    I mind asking: Where love and how love Rati’s priestesses?
    You can tell me of their washings at moon-down
    And if that warm basin have silver borders.
    Is it so that when they comb their hair
    Their fingers, being purple-stained, show
    Like coral branches in the black sea of their hair?

    Even now
    I remember that you made answer very softly,
    We being one soul, your hand on my hair,
    The burning memory rounding your near lips;
    I have seen the priestesses of Rati make love at moon-fall
    And then in a carpeted hall with a bright gold lamp
    Lie down carelessly anywhere to sleep.

    Even now
    I have no surety that she is not Mahadevi
    Rose red of Siva, or Kapagata
    The wilful ripe Companion of the King,
    Or Krishna’s own Lakshmi, the violet-haired.
    I am not certain but that dark Brahma
    In his high secret purposes
    Has sent my soft girl down to make the three worlds mad
    With capering about her scented feet.

    Even now
    Call not the master painters from all the world,
    Their thin black boards, their rose and green and grey,
    Their ashes of lapis ultramarine, Their earth of shadows the umber. Laughing at art
    Sunlight upon the body of my bride,
    For painting not nor any eyes for ever.
    Oh warm tears on the body of my bride.

    Even now
    I mind when the red crowds were passed and it was raining
    How glad those two that shared the rain with me;
    For they talked happily with rich young voices
    And at the storm’s increase, closer and with content,
    Each to the body of the other held
    As there were no more severance for ever.

    Even now
    The stainless fair appearance of the moon
    Rolls her gold beauty over an autumn sky
    And the stiff anchorite forgets to pray;
    How much the sooner I, if her wild mouth
    Tasting of the taste of manna came to mine
    And kept my soul at balance above a kiss.

    Even now
    Her mouth careless scented as with lotus dust
    Is water of love to the great heat of love,
    A tirtha very holy, a lover’s lake
    Utterly sacred. Might I go down to it
    But one more time, then should I find a way
    To hold my lake for ever and ever more
    Sobbing out my life beside the waters.

    Even now
    I mind that the time of the falling of blossoms started my dream
    Into a wild life, into my girl;
    Then was the essence of her beauty spilled
    Down on my days so that it fades not,
    Fails not, subtle and fresh, in perfuming
    That day, and the days, and this the latest day.

    Even now
    She with young limbs as smooth as flower pollen,
    Whose swaying body is laved in the cool
    Waters of languor, this dear bright-coloured bird,
    Walks not, changes not, advances not
    Her weary station by the black lake
    Of Gone Forever, in whose fountain vase
    Balance the water-lilies of my thought.

    Even now
    Spread we our nets beyond the farthest rims
    So surely that they take the feet of dawn
    Before you wake and after you are sleeping
    Catch up the visible and invisible stars
    And web the ports the strongest dreamer dreamed,
    Yet is it all one, Vidya, yet it is nothing.

    Even now
    The night is full of silver straws of rain,
    And I will send my soul to see your body
    This last poor time. I stand beside our bed;
    Your shadowed head lies leaving a bright space
    Upon the pillow empty, your sorrowful arm
    Holds from your side and clasps not anything.
    There is no covering upon you.

    Even now
    I think your feet seek mine to comfort them.
    There is some dream about you even now
    Which I’ll not hear at waking. Weep not at dawn,
    Though day brings wearily your daily loss
    And all the light is hateful. Now is it time
    To bring my soul away.

    Even now
    I mind that I went round with men and women,
    And underneath their brows, deep in their eyes,
    I saw their souls, which go slippng aside
    In swarms before the pleasure of my mind;
    The world was like a flight of birds, shadow or flame
    Which I saw pass above the engraven hills.
    Yet was there never one like to my woman.

    Even now
    Death I take up as consolation.
    Nay, were I free as the condor with his wings
    Or old kings throned on violet ivory,
    Night would not come without beds of green floss
    And never a bed without my bright darling.
    Most fit that you strike now, black guards,
    And let the fountain out before the dawn.

    Even now
    I know that I have savoured the hot taste of life
    Lifting green cups and gold at the great feast.
    Just for a small and a forgotten time
    I have had full in my eyes from off my girl
    The whitest pouring of eternal light.
    The heavy knife. As to a gala day.

    Steve57 (ec1eac)

  32. I’m gonna put it all together.

    …To support these special operations, the Marines needed a fast seaborne transport from the Navy. On 28 November 1938, the Navy’s oldest flush-deck destroyer, USS Manley, underwent the first of several exercises and modifications in quick succession until, by 7 February 1939, her forward two boilers and two stacks were replaced by a berthing compartment for 120 Marines and her four triple torpedo tubes mounts were replaced by davits to handle the new Higgins boats. One waist gun was deleted, the other moved to her centerline…

    It will be a block buster.

    Steve57 (ec1eac)

  33. I’m gonna put it all together.

    …To support these special operations, the Marines needed a fast seaborne transport from the Navy. On 28 November 1938, the Navy’s oldest flush-deck destroyer, USS Manley, underwent the first of several exercises and modifications in quick succession until, by 7 February 1939, her forward two boilers and two stacks were replaced by a berthing compartment for 120 Marines and her four triple torpedo tubes mounts were replaced by davits to handle the new Higgins boats. One waist gun was deleted, the other moved to her centerline…

    It will be a block buster.

    An epic.

    Steve57 (ec1eac)

  34. If I saw 36 I wouldn’t have done 37.

    Steve57 (ec1eac)


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