This
article might be too harsh for the sensitive heart, it's not meant to
be implied.
In
a desert landscape I walked up from a dune, when over the mound a
greater glass structure sinking one floor after the other in my
approach the hollow. Arriving on the ridge exposed to the seven story
building, appeared at driveway level men dressed in Arab clothing
savagely blasting away the jetting out front of the building. I
shouted at the men, “Stop breaking thing down, which your kind are
in need of.”
Scared
of their reprisal, I continued walking along the elevated hill brow
slanting down in the distance. The ridge leveled out at ground with
the end of the building, when one of the man appeared around a sand
dune. In a brutal and threatening gait, wielding the scalpel at hand
approached. In a threatening tone of voice said in Arabic words,
which left no doubt aggressive toward me. At a right moment, in one
wallop, he fell to the ground, without sight of me beating the hell
out of him. The scalpel flying far off my left shoulder, with a
glimpse falling on the ground behind me. The man rose for another
bare hand onslaught. He flew back again, without sight of my
defensive punches or kicks rising several times from the ground,
until I ran our of breath. Knocked out, I felt glued flat on my back,
my limbs apart. on the ground and unable to move, came close to my
face, smelling the man's foul warm breathing, unable to move, my body
nailed down. With closed eyes, I sensed he withdrew, thinking he
retrieved and outreached an arm a hand outreaching, fetching the
scalpel with the intention go slice my throat.
This is where I thought my next move:
In
that instant, I imagined at the moment of regaining my breath, to
gather my stomach muscles at lifting my torso. In a jerk of
coordinated muscle forces and a breath taking, I threw my head
forward. The Arab yelled in pain, while I stood up alongside the man
hiding his broken nose in both hands the blood running from the heel
of his hands. In a rushed of sight I met the sheepish regard of the
other men. They who had gathered, kept afar crowded, gazing at the
resort of their leader yelling out of pain and out of action. I faced
the little crowded faces who had ceased their auto-destructive
demolishing spur. In an authoritarian voice I said, “There is no
god – Let one of your men pickup the scalpel of your leader and cut
off his balls.”
“Go
where you came form,” I said to the men, and in refrain, shouting,
reiterated, “There is no god – Let that generation it took
Mohamed's wars to conquer the land around the Mediterranean basin.”
In less time annihilating the thousand four hundred years of village
destruction, terrorizing people, slaughter, rape, forceful
conversions, slave driving, women, marrying little girls, be history.
Wave my book about, the proof that there is no god. Was there a god,
you would not have had wars, neither destroyed everything that
another man built.
“In
less than a generation, Take a man's knife, and castrate him.” If
he hasn't got a knife take the next best thing, should a man touch
the mother of living species – let people respect, and treasure
life. Take off the veil of every woman. Tell women to seduce the man
she wishes to have a child with. Let her child be out of her love
nest. Let mothers educate her sons and daughters. Spread the word,
'That he be castrated, any man who touch a woman against her will, or
her child without the full consent of equal maturity.' Let the child
bear the name of the mother. Let man serve the woman that bears his
child, and respect will reign among them. Let the vicious woman
have no children, neither a man, so that children are at the center
of their existence.
