Mao said that dead people don’t all weigh the same, that some weigh like a feather but others like a mountain. The dictator knew what he was talking about since he soon lost all sense of weight and measure. It is certain that all we will remember about the seven zombies and the horror they spewed out of their machine guns. To name them would be to grant them far too much importance; we can no longer even laugh when we think that those morons blew themselves up believing they were on the way to meet with who knows how many virgins. What can you do with such cockroaches (a word that was also used to describe “fascist vermin”)? We have to wipe them out. The world’s press reacted, pointing out that beyond the many victims, a certain notion of Life had been targeted, something that couldn’t be measured with a measly number of “virgins”. The images have been powerful since that ominous Friday night, but don’t be reluctant to look at them, even if it hurts. When lunacy is measured in corpses, it gives you the strength to move beyond simple thoughts.
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