Fourteen Eleven Paris

14/11. Paris 14/11 another fine day in Portugal to wake up for but the news from Paris turned the sky grey and the sun a spent cartridge cooling in the body of a man in a café, beer, wine and blood. Allah Akbar, god the great and merciful, what a horrible irony in the streets of deaths. I walked in the sunlight that unashamedly shone on a day of dread and it warmed my cold face and somewhere in Paris a man sits outside and plays “Imagine” on a piano it is heart -breaking and I`m filled with conflicting feeling anger and trying to understand what is impossible to grasp. I fear the backlash and the fascist demagogues who can use the shock to their political goal and they will be believed by an incensed mob, Arabs will be killed for belonging to Semitic tribe that have suffered unbelievable bad luck that never seems to end.