I’ll not be watching the Democratic debate tonight. (Really Debbie? On a Saturday night during college football season?) I’ll be watching college football, but only after a day of following events of what’s clearly a different kind of Islamist attack on the west in Paris. Who could blame Israelis for saying, “now you know what its like,” eh? Suicide bombers, grenades and multiple Kalashnikov clips for slaughtering young people having a good time at a concert is old hat to them.
Such a sudden and frightening upgrade in weaponry – and applied to innocent citizenry – will be sure to ramp up chest-thumping rhetoric from world leaders. French President Francois Hollande indeed called the multiple Paris attacks “an act of war, ” but aside anything short of a sustained campaign of air strikes on ISIS military targets and training camps followed up by mopping up by ground forces isn’t a real response to an act of war.
Color me Neocon warmonger, lefties, and then go back to agitating for safe spaces from micro-aggressions on college campuses. I’m sure that same muscle which bounced a couple of college journalists from your safe space will be deterrent enough from an ISIS embed in full-bombed-up jacket and several dozen banana clips of ammo at the ready.
They came for our children last night in Paris. American kids just like those misguided but principled ones in Missouri were among the slaughtered on the floor of a concert hall. I don’t like that shit.
I remember Paris in ’49.
The Champs Elysee, San Michelle
And old Beauolais wine.
And I recall that you were mine
In those Parisienne days.
Looking back at the photographs.
Those summerdays spent outside corner cafes.
Oh, I could write you paragraphs,
About my old Parisienne days.
The late Gary Moore’s signature song, Parisienne Walkways has been in my head since last night. The few lines of lost love but still longed for sung by Moore’s frequent Thin Lizzy collaborator Phil Lynott ties the mournfully ironic, yet desperately beautiful melody together. We sadly don’t have them anymore. Moore died of a sudden heart attack in 2011 and Lynott succumbed to AIDS in 1986. Eduardo Rivadavia wrote this of the duo and song:
For years leading up to the song’s recording, Moore and Lynott had both played and sparred together like twin siblings separated at birth, continually trying to align their musical agendas before falling out, again and again, for one reason or another, only to be drawn inevitably back to one another.
It was inevitable that I would be drawn back to writing. Two Irish guys supplied a soundtrack in a song about a city to which I’ve never been.