In the long days in September 11th; I, like many people, have struggled to find something adequate to say about the events in the the world around me.

My inability to contribute anything meaningful has distressed me somewhat. Distressed me because I feel that sometimes people look to me to find the words to describe their own feelings.

Piaget says "Word's are the hooks on which we hang our ideas"; without them we may formulate ideas but we cannot hold onto them. There are, however, so many conflicting ideas that surround such a gigantic tragedy. To search for any central one is daunting to say the least.

Quite bluntly the trouble for me, as for many of us, was that all my initial responses were rage-filled; and the trouble with history is that it is often initial outrage that inadvisedly shapes it's responses. Rage against the terrorists began to give way slowly over the days following the attacks to be replaced by similar emotions towards those who brought about the conditions that gave rise to such murderous and despicable acts of desperation.

The ongoing refusal by the American based media (and, by extension, most Western media) to recognize any part that U.S. foreign policy may have had in the passage of events also enraged me.

As the U.S. response became more martial; as the drums of war swelled in volume; and as the Bush Administration made it clear that to fail to support their position was to be in league with their enemies, my anger turned on the manufacturers of the weapons of violence who were soon to profit so greatly from all of this.

The first song that overflowed out of me onto the stage was "Money To Be Made" a somewhat brutal piece about that.