My prophetic vision of a Las Vegas destroyed.

If you’ll note, my previous post regarding confirmation that the downing of the Russian Metrojet was caused by a terrorist bomb, was posted at 4:07 am. That’s right, bitches. 0407 hours, PDT.

Insomnia is a wonderful, beautiful thing by which to just be creative and psychotic.

Anyways, with all this stuff fresh in my mind, I went back to bed and attempted to sleep. I drifted in and out of lucidity. Fell asleep here and there, sorta, woke up, never really entered REM, still it felt good to lie beneath the sheets on this cold morning.

And then I had one of my prophetic visions, which, incidentally, never come true. But they are amusing.

In this one, I saw a plane, I saw bombs, and I saw Las Vegas.

I hate Vegas so much that I might actually cheer if that hellhole in the desert is decimated.
But that’s just me.

Finally, it’s “official” and now our American monkeys have to acquiesce. Russian Metrojet was bombed.

Well there, something we all knew, despite the protestations of much of the civilized world’s leadership.

Back on Halloween, I called it our “Lusitania moment.”

Under Vladimir Putin, such a possibility seems more sinister and imminent. More people died in this plane crash than died in the Paris attacks on Friday the 13th, and frankly, France’s diffuse but cosmetically dramatic response hardly qualifies as anything Lusitania-like.

Reactive, predictable, hollow: all describe France’s rote, chest-pounding response immediately after Friday’s shootings and bombings in its capital city. “Look everyone, we’re making the terrorists pay!” seem to plea France’s bombing of Raqqa.

Meanwhile, a measured, restrained Russia appraises the landscape as it preps more stringent vindications.