bhutto died of skull fracture; pictures of chaos, death; attack video emerges

From the Associated Press:

Benazir Bhutto died from a skull fracture suffered when her head slammed against her car during a suicide attack—not from bullet wounds, the government said Friday.

Pakistan's interior minister blamed al-Qaida and the Taliban for Thursday's assassination and said another key opposition leader, Nawaz Sharif, is also under threat of militant attack.

The government released a transcript Friday of a purported conversation between militant leader Baitullah Mehsud and another militant.

"It was a spectacular job. They were very brave boys who killed her," Mehsud said, according to the transcript.

Authorities on Thursday said Bhutto died from bullet wounds fired by a young man who then blew himself up, killing 20 other people. A surgeon who treated her said Friday she died from the impact of shrapnel on her skull.

But later Friday, Interior Ministry spokesman Javed Iqbal Cheema said all three shots missed her as she greeted supporters through the sunroof of her vehicle, which was bulletproof and bombproof.

He also denied that shrapnel caused her death, saying Bhutto was killed when she tried to duck back into the vehicle, and the shock waves from the blast knocked her head into a lever attached to the sunroof, fracturing her skull.

At a news conference, Cheema played a videotape of the attack showing Bhutto waving, smiling and chatting with supporters from the sunroof as her car sat unmoving on the street outside a campaign rally. Three gunshots rang out, the camera appeared to fall, and the tape ended.

Bhutto was slain while campaigning for the crucial Jan. 8 parliamentary elections in which she hoped to return as prime minister of the nuclear-armed country, a key U.S. ally in the war on terrorism. Upon her return from exile in October, she survived an assassination attempt. She had repeatedly complained that the government of Pakistani President Pervez Musharraf did not give her adequate security.

As word of her death spread, her supporters blamed Musharraf of complicity in her assassination.

On Friday, Interior Minister Hamid Nawaz told The Associated Press that the government had evidence that al-Qaida and Taliban were behind the suicide attack.

Later, Cheema blamed Mehsud, described him as an "al-Qaida leader" and said he was also behind the Oct. 18 bombing against Bhutto's homecoming parade through Karachi that killed more than 140 people.

Mehsud is a commander of pro-Taliban forces in the lawless Pakistani tribal region South Waziristan, where al-Qaida fighters are also active. His forces often attack Pakistani security forces.

This fall, he was quoted in a Pakistani newspaper as saying that he would welcome Bhutto's return from exile with suicide bombers. Mehsud later denied that in statements to local television and newspaper reporters.

Cheema said Mehsud was "behind most of the recent terrorist attacks that have taken place in Pakistan."

He said Pakistani security forces would hunt down those responsible for Bhutto's death.

Cheema also said Sharif—also a former prime minister and now the most prominent opposition leader in Pakistan—was among several politicians under threat of militant attack.

He named others as Fazlur Rehman, the leader of an Islamist opposition party; former Railways Minister Sheikh Rashid Ahmed, a close ally of President Pervez Musharraf; and former Interior Minister Aftab Sherpao, who narrowly escaped a suicide bombing last weekend that killed 56 people.

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Scenes of chaos: Getty Images photographer John Moore describes the glory and tragedy of 27 December 2007. (Warning: Slideshow contains graphic images.)

View the slideshow HERE.

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Gunman caught on video

benazir bhutto assassinated in pakistan (article and video)

From BBC News:

Pakistani former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto has been assassinated in a suicide attack.

Ms Bhutto - the first woman PM in an Islamic state - was leaving an election rally in Rawalpindi when a gunman shot her in the neck and set off a bomb.

At least 20 other people died in the attack and several more were injured.

President Pervez Musharraf has urged people to remain calm but angry protests have gripped some cities, with at least 11 deaths reported.

Security forces have been placed on a state of "red alert" nationwide.

There were no immediate claims of responsibility for the attack. Analysts believe Islamist militants to be the most likely group behind it.

Ms Bhutto, leader of the Pakistan People's Party (PPP), had served as prime minister from 1988-1990 and 1993-1996, and had been campaigning ahead of elections due on 8 January.

It was the second suicide attack against her in recent months and came amid a wave of bombings targeting security and government officials.

Nawaz Sharif, also a former prime minister and a political rival, announced his Muslim League party would boycott the elections.

He called on President Musharraf to resign, saying free and fair elections were not possible under his rule.

The United Nations Security Council held an emergency session and later said it "unanimously condemned" the assassination.

Scene of grief

Ms Bhutto's coffin was removed from hospital in Rawalpindi and has now arrived by plane in Sukkur in Sindh province for burial in her home town, Larkana.

Her husband, Asif Ali Zardari, has arrived in Pakistan from Dubai to escort the coffin to its final resting-place.

The attack occurred close to an entrance gate of the city park where Ms Bhutto had been speaking.

Police confirmed reports Ms Bhutto had been shot in the neck and chest before the gunman blew himself up.

She died at 1816 (1316 GMT), said Wasif Ali Khan, a member of the PPP who was at hospital.

Some supporters at the hospital wept while others broke into anger, throwing stones at cars and breaking windows.

Protests erupted in other cities as news of the assassination spread, with reports of 11 deaths in the PPP's heartland province of Sindh, including four in provincial capital, Karachi.

More than 100 cars were burned in Karachi, while cars and a train were reportedly set on fire in Hyderabad.

In other violence:

Police in Peshawar, in the north-west, used batons and tear gas to break up a rally by protesters chanting anti-Musharraf slogans

One man was killed in a "shoot-out" between police and protesters in Tando Allahyar, the mayor said

Unrest was also reported in Quetta, Multan and Shikarpur

'Security lapse'

Mr Musharraf has announced three days of national mourning. All schools, colleges, universities, banks and government offices will remain closed.

Mr Sharif said there had been a "serious lapse in security" by the government.

Earlier on Thursday, at least four people were killed ahead of an election rally Mr Sharif had been preparing to attend close to Rawalpindi.

Ms Bhutto's death has plunged the PPP into confusion and raises questions about whether January elections will go ahead as planned, the BBC's Barbara Plett in Islamabad says.

The killing was condemned by India, the US, the UK and others.

US President George W Bush telephoned Mr Musharraf for what the White House would only describe as a "brief" conversation on the situation.

Ms Bhutto returned from self-imposed exile in October after years out of Pakistan where she had faced corruption charges.

Her return was the result of a power-sharing agreement with President Musharraf

He had granted an amnesty that covered the court cases she was facing.

But relations with Mr Musharraf soon broke down.

On the day of her arrival, she had led a motor cavalcade through the city of Karachi.

It was hit by a double suicide attack that left some 130 dead.

Rawalpindi, the nerve centre of Pakistan's military, is seen as one of the country's most secure cities.

Many analysts say attacks like those on Thursday show the creeping "Talebanisation" of Pakistan.

Radical Muslims calling for Islamic law, and fiercely opposed to the US, have become increasingly active in Pakistani politics in recent years, analysts say.

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From CNN.com

The photographer who took images of former Pakistani Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto moments before her assassination Thursday told CNN he was "surprised" to see her rise through the sunroof of her vehicle to wave to supporters after delivering her speech.

"I ran up, got as close as I got, made a few pictures of her waving to the crowd," Getty Images senior staff photographer John Moore told CNN's online streaming news service, CNN.com Live, in a phone interview Thursday from Islamabad, Pakistan.

"And then suddenly, there were a few gunshots that rang out, and she went down, she went down through the
sunroof," he said. "And just at that moment I raised my camera up and the blast happened. ... And then, of
course, there was chaos." Watch Moore describe Bhutto's final moments HERE.

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the man in the tide

A light drizzle like a moist fog blanketed the city. Despite December's raw weather, the downtown sidewalks bristled with consumers eager to complete their holiday shopping. I was among them, but unlike them, my hands were empty, free of shopping bags; I swam among the school, observing the annual chaos.
Lights were flashing.
Familiar holiday songs poured from the storefronts.
Children spoke of Santa's pending arrival.
Adults squawked into cellular devices.
And like sunken battleships from long forgotten battles, the panhandlers, homeless and lunatics were glued to the concrete floor, while others leaned against the polished marble of upscale shopping palaces. Voices and signs asked for change. A few of the desolate begged for nothing, asked for nothing -- their eyes said everything.
Several feet from the vagrants, a closed cafe's awning provided me refuge from the ill elements. Out of the mist, I lit a cigarette and watched the fortunate pass the desperate, the immaculate pass the forsaken. A bedraggled man in soiled clothing approached me as I returned the pack of smokes to my pocket.
"Pardon me, kind sir, but may I have one of those?" he asked, pointing at the burning cigarette between my lips.
The man's breath reeked of bourbon. I obliged his request. His weathered flesh told me he was in his fifties, but a glint of youth in his eyes hinted otherwise.
"Poor sons uh bitches," he muttered at the passing pedestrians. "They don't know how good they got it. Out here spendin' money on all this shit. Shit that's destined for a wasteland they'll never see. They've lost sight. All of 'em."
He paused, ashed the cigarette and yelled at no one in particular, "Y'all've lost sight!"
Few people paid any attention to the declaration. Just another sidewalk crackpot, they thought.
"What's that dirty man talkin' about, daddy?" I heard a small girl ask.
"Who knows, honey. Who knows. Come on, let's get home. Mommy's waiting for us," daddy responded.
The man removed a pint of Rebel Yell bourbon from his pocket, took a swig and sighed in relief, as if the sweet lips of salvation had graced his haggard soul.
"A widow died of cholera in 1939, leavin' behind four children doomed for an orphanage."
He turned away from the sea of humanity and stared into my eyes. His silvery blue eyes, piercing eyes, beamed something invisible into mine.
"You believe in ghosts, friend?" he asked.
"Ghosts? I don't know, man," I replied.
"Well, that poor widow . . . she's alive, floatin' in my head. Somewhere. You know, she sings to me at night. She sings these songs, these beautiful ballads that bring tears to my eyes." He took a drag from the cigarette and exhaled. The smoke and his bourbon-stained breath floated up, away from us, over the sea of strangers. And in a shaky, off-key voice he sang, "Oh my children, I love you so / Oh my dearest husband, I see your blood, in the cold white snow / Spring will soon come, I'll watch the blossoms grow / But not my children, for the Lord, He took me so.
"Sometimes I see her . . . her hair . . . hair like an angel -- clean, flowin'. She tells me her name is Grace, which was the name of my grandmother. It's her, my grandmother, inside my head. Singin', whisperin' to me, askin' me why her . . . why her grandchildren -- I have a brother and a sister. They're out east somewhere, away from all this shit. Anyway, she sometimes asks me, 'Why'd you kill my daughter, Richard?' You see, my momma was in a car accident -- a bad one. I rushed to the hospital and my brother and sister were already there, and I . . . I see momma on that clean white bed, surrounded by tubes and machines, her head was wrapped with a bandage. My brother and sister were by her side and they were just starin' at her with tears in their eyes, on their cheeks. And I'll never forget how they were starin' at her . . . like they couldn't believe that was momma. The doctor said her chances of comin' out that coma were slim, so we waited and waited, I don't know how many days. Nothin' changed. So we, my brother and sis, decided to . . . decided to . . . uh . . . pull the plug. Momma died and a few days later we buried . . . we buried momma . . ."
The man's words trailed off and he turned away from me, looked into the sky and the mist falling from it, and in a hushed voice said, "'Why'd you do it, Richard?'"
Tear's filled his eyes, eyes like shiny plastic. Silvery blue eyes, piercing eyes. He reached into his pocket and took a swig from the pint. The man stepped out from under the awning, glanced left, glanced right, and, looking into that sea of humanity, dove in, joining all those people. As he walked east, I tried to follow him with my eyes, but the tide took him from my sight. Amid the sidewalk chatter and Christmas music, I heard his voice, rising from the sea, singing, "Oh my children, I love you so / Spring will soon come, I'll watch the blossoms grow / But not my children, for the Lord, He took me so."

xx

and now for something completely different

One of the funniest things I've seen in quite some time. Absolutely hilarious.

words and sounds for winter's bleakness

Sounds: PJ Harvey's White Chalk

For those unfamiliar with PJ Harvey's previous releases, White Chalk, her eighth album, may not be the best introduction to her body of work. Unlike her previous albums, White Chalk is free of electric guitars and her "modern rock" sound. With the exception of "Broken Harp" and, ironically, "The Piano," White Chalk is a piano record.
The album's bare production leaves Polly Jean stripped and naked, exposing the musical assets that make her one of the best singer/songwriters performing today: ghostly, ethereal vocals; cryptic lyrics that range from melancholic to sexual; and unique song compositions.
"The Devil" introduces the listener to White Chalk's gray world. "As soon as I'm left alone / The devil wanders into my soul" are the first words uttered. Harvey delivers the first verse in a paper-thin voice that barely rises above a whisper until the chorus shatters the song beautifully. "Come! / Come! here at once!" she sings, her voice full and resonant.
"The Devil" frames White Chalk nicely. The song's sound and lyrics are a perfect, albeit ominous, omen for what's to come: pleas for darkness ("Dear Darkness / Won't you cover / Cover me again" ["Dear Darkness]), the mourning of a loved one ("Oh grandmother / How I miss you / Under the earth / Wish I was with you / I'm so lonely / All of my life" ["To Talk to You"]) and final goodbyes ("Farewell my friends / Farewell my dear one / If I was rude / Forgive my weakness / Goodbye my friends / Goodbye to evening parties / Remember me / In the spring" ["Before Departure"]).
The lyrics are moving, but it's Harvey's voice and her method of delivering these poignant lines that make White Chalk her best album to date and possibly the finest release of 2007.
In a recent interview with PitchforkMedia.com, Harvey, a self-proclaimed piano novice, said that her lack of playing experience was "freeing" and allowed her to "travel in ... areas [she'd] never have reached before." It's this exploration that makes White Chalk such an intriguing masterpiece.
Rarely should one judge an album by its cover, but this work is an exception to that steadfast rule. Surrounded by darkness, Harvey sits, gazing forward, in a ghostly white Victorian gown. The photograph mirrors the album's sound; for the songs are not products of this century nor the last -- they are unsettled spirits searching for peace. And never has that eternal search sounded so beautiful.

Words: Thomas Hardy's Jude the Obscure

Due to its scathing criticism of religion, marriage, and socio- and economic conventions, Thomas Hardy's Jude the Obscure (1896) drew the ire of literary critics and ultimately silenced his desire to write another novel; he would, however, continue to write, publishing several volumes of poetry until his death in 1928.
Most critics now regard the novel as Hardy's finest work.
Jude the Obscure is a magnificent tale about the tragic consequences of extinguished dreams and lost love. With exquisite craft and precision, Hardy keeps the reader clinging to the spectre of hope until the closing pages.
The novel, which takes place in late 19th century England, follows Jude Fawley from his impoverished youth until his demise several years later.
Upon his schoolmaster's departure to Christminister, a city of great schools and opportunity, Jude, at the age of 11, dreams of the scholarly possibilities that await him in the city and longs to leave meager Marygreen.
He remains in Marygreen for a few more years, becoming a stonemason and, in his spare time, teaches himself Greek and Latin in preparation for university. Before he can leave for Christminister, he falls in love with Arabella Donn. Distracted by his heart's new fancy, Jude abandons his studies and soon marries Arabella. Unbeknownst to Jude, the marriage is based on false pretenses -- a feigned pregnancy.
Several months later Jude realizes that his and Arabella's lives have been "ruined by the fundamental error of their matrimonial union." He then learns that his family history is riddled with failed marriages (his mother drowned herself after an argument with his father). Shocked by the revelation, he attempts to drown himself in a nearby lake, but the water is frozen solid. After drinking himself drunk at a local pub, he returns home only to discover a note from Arabella: "Have gone to my friends. Shall not return."
Jude finally leaves Marygreen and moves to Christminister where he resumes his studies. He soon discovers that no university will have him, but finds joy -- and love -- when he meets his cousin, Sue Bridehead. Jude also sees Mr Phillotson -- the schoolmaster that inspired an 11 year old Jude to move to Christminister. Phillotson eventually marries Sue, and, once again, Jude is forlorn.
In the rare case that someone reads this post and actually reads Jude the Obscure, I'll refrain from revealing more of the story's plot. Alternatively, an attempt to summarize this epic tale would be an injustice to Hardy's work.
As I stated earlier, Hardy craftily dangles the carrot of hope in front of the reader, so the book is not completely desolate. It is, however, a heartbreaking novel of immense beauty and great tragedy that, when finished, leaves the reader aghast.

----------------
--Side note--
Jude the Obscure is a must-read for any man who identifies with the following passage:

"At first I did love you, Jude; that I own. When I first knew you I merely wanted you to love me. I did not exactly flirt with you; but that inborn craving which undermines some women's morals almost more than unbridled passion -- the craving to attract and captivate, regardless of the injury it may do the man -- was in me; and when I found I had caught you, I was frightened. And then -- I don't know how it was -- I couldn't bear to let you go -- possibly to Arabella again -- and so I got to love you, Jude. But you see, however fondly it ended, it began in the selfish and cruel wish to make your heart ache for me without letting mine ache for you."
"And now you add to your cruelty by leaving me!"
"Ah -- yes! The further I flounder, the more harm I do!"
"O Sue!" said he with a sudden sense of his own danger. "Do not do an immoral thing for moral reasons! You have been my social salvation. Stay with me for humanity's sake! You know what a weak fellow I am. My two arch-enemies you know -- my weakness for womankind and my impulse to strong liquor. Don't abandon me to them, Sue, to save your own soul only! They have been kept entirely at a distance since you became my guardian angel!" (357)

xx

discbox in mailbox

Radiohead's limited edition In Rainbows discbox arrived today. I'm very impressed with the exquisite packaging of the set.
The entire In Rainbows project has been a monumental feat in the music industry, considering the band and their usual cohorts accomplished everything without corporate interference.

xx

zero

Over the hills
Under the moon
And sinking in darkened valleys,
Desire is harbored inside the black jaws of the invisible--
The grievous Nothingness.


A telephone buried in dust
"2" is A-B-C
"8" is T-U-V
"0" is OPERATOR
My cold digit presses "0"
Just to hear a voice.

She asks me questions
And I'm seeking answers.

"Are your fingernails painted?
Is your husband waiting for you
In a warm home illuminated by the blue shadows of a television?
Have the children been fed?
Have your sons and daughters been put to bed?
Did they utter their nightly prayers?
Our lives are whispers
Dying in this cold December air
And no one is listening.

"Are you listening, Mrs. Zero?

"Outside my window
Snow tumbles from the sky,
The flakes stick to dirty windshields
And shattered sidewalks,
The falling snow reminds me of a winter night that thrives
Under the murk of my mind.

"The flesh of ice
The passion of lovers
The lovers were strangers,
Her chapped lips
And whiskey stained soul,
She smelled like home
And tasted like safety.

"The traffic lights were flashing
Yellow
Yellow
Yellow,
'6' is M-N-O
'6' is M-N-O
'6' is M-N-O,
And yellow is caution
An admonition I did not heed.

"I gave myself to her
Inside her,
She felt like sanctuary
But O how the senses deceive!
She would retreat before the sun broke the sky
And '4' is G-H-I.

"Are your fingernails painted, Mrs. Zero?
Will your tender fingertips connect the dots I have lost?
They have slipped through these digits
And joined the constellations buried in the sky,
Cosmic graves that glimmer
Faded chronicles that shine
Beyond the reach of time
Astronauts
And the unbroken imaginations of beloved children.

"Are you listening, Mrs. Zero?
Our lives are whispers
Dying in the cold December air."

And no one is listening.

xx

more rainbows