My grandmother was Helen Monaghan. She married William Long, from Philadelphia, and raised a family, including my mother, Ruth, in Hornell, N.Y. Maybe we're cousins somehow.

I got your name from an article by Doug Herman that was posted on rense.com 5-21-8. Great work you're doing. I watched the short video about Cheney. I remember reading , shortly after the attacks, that a junior congressman, a republican, I think, said he passed Cheney in the hall outside the bunker a little before 8:30 am the morning of the attack. Can't recall the lawmaker's name. I believe I read that on AlterNet.

Waiting For The Signal

These pages that bring us together

are the fire in the cave above the stream,

a dream we move in and out of, faceless,

expendable, waiting for a burst of wings

to spill our pooled bones like coins

over the chilled and silent ground

we fell in love with so long ago,

singing the green hills homeward

under that shovel-shouldered sun.

Fatigue works grim the stone of souls.

No talk is needed to believe the bleeding

will be ours all too soon. Needled dust,

that settled itself in naive lungs, cuts

with each rasp, yet the bleeding

won't be stemmed. Quick, black tongues

flick from windows, floors below dustified

debris, and the Street slumps with peanuts

beside its beer, locked on the game.

In our rush of voices a stream curses

the murmur of pines. In our names,

what we begged for never to be done,

is done with no shame. And the day

drags its blindered self to toil. Night trades

whiskey pete for oil, while down slope,

death-drummer birds with blazing eyes

ascend the holy crags to kill dissent

before we waking innocent arise.

-G. Karl Marcus

12/10/05