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Oh yes we grow up to get accustomed to all: pain in every part of the body, loosing sight, tinnitus, loss of smell, of taste... [[Barjavel]] was saying that with age, the brain gets sharper but the desire to use it diminishes in greater proportion. So everything is going. The first time I saw such an image of dead children, murdered as collateral victim, I got hypnotized by the pain and the horror of finding myself an accomplice of humanity committing a crime against itself [[Blog:Fabrice/Ô_malheureux_mortels_!_Ô_terre_déplorable_!|Fabrice/Ô_malheureux_mortels_!_Ô_terre_déplorable_!]] Now I see such images daily and | Oh yes we grow up to get accustomed to all: pain in every part of the body, loosing sight, tinnitus, loss of smell, of taste... [[Barjavel]] was saying that with age, the brain gets sharper but the desire to use it diminishes in greater proportion. So everything is going. The first time I saw such an image of dead children, murdered as collateral victim, I got hypnotized by the pain and the horror of finding myself an accomplice of humanity committing a crime against itself [[Blog:Fabrice/Ô_malheureux_mortels_!_Ô_terre_déplorable_!|Fabrice/Ô_malheureux_mortels_!_Ô_terre_déplorable_!]] Now I see such images daily and | ||
This brings me closer to those who are so far away on their path to sacrifice, on their Via Crucis, so far in sight that we almost do not see them anymore although we see pictures of their martyrdom. This detail, a drawing of a polar bear, of a [[Disney]] character, of anything that has no connection to blood and death make me remember: they were probably giggling at the decoration, this was surely their favourite tee-shirt or pull-over, they were playing with the character left on their clothes in a world where they were otherwise left alone. They were children as our children are, those children which do not know hunger, the pain of losing their loved ones, brothers, sisters, mother, or this primeval fear under the noise and heat of military onslaught. | This brings me closer to those who are so far away on their path to sacrifice, on their Via Crucis, so far in sight that we almost do not see them anymore although we see pictures of their martyrdom. This detail, a drawing of a polar bear, of a [[Disney]] character, of anything that has no connection to blood and death make me remember: they were probably giggling at the decoration, this was surely their favourite tee-shirt or pull-over, they were playing with the character left on their clothes in a world where they were otherwise left alone. They were children as our children are, those children which do not know hunger, the pain of losing their loved ones, brothers, sisters, mother, or this primeval fear under the noise and heat of military onslaught. | ||
Revision as of 14:15, 27 July 2025
One morbid detail that never fails to bring tears to my eyes in the constant flow of pictures that the modern world bring to us from the Gaza massacres, are murdered children draped in their children's clothings.
Although I never cared for toyish decorations on tots' outfits, when these adorn a blood-soaked garment that itself drapes the corpse of a child, this awakes in me some unquenchable despair and disgust that other pictures no longer draw out from my dried-out soul, following the sad but maybe necessary fact that one gets used, and resolved, to everything. Well, not to this. A most incongruous mix of childhood and post-mortem eternity, a grotesque mélange of innocence and crime, the merging of humanity and inhumanity.
Oh yes we grow up to get accustomed to all: pain in every part of the body, loosing sight, tinnitus, loss of smell, of taste... Barjavel was saying that with age, the brain gets sharper but the desire to use it diminishes in greater proportion. So everything is going. The first time I saw such an image of dead children, murdered as collateral victim, I got hypnotized by the pain and the horror of finding myself an accomplice of humanity committing a crime against itself Fabrice/Ô_malheureux_mortels_!_Ô_terre_déplorable_! Now I see such images daily and
This brings me closer to those who are so far away on their path to sacrifice, on their Via Crucis, so far in sight that we almost do not see them anymore although we see pictures of their martyrdom. This detail, a drawing of a polar bear, of a Disney character, of anything that has no connection to blood and death make me remember: they were probably giggling at the decoration, this was surely their favourite tee-shirt or pull-over, they were playing with the character left on their clothes in a world where they were otherwise left alone. They were children as our children are, those children which do not know hunger, the pain of losing their loved ones, brothers, sisters, mother, or this primeval fear under the noise and heat of military onslaught.