There’s no such thing as “Islamic State”. It is the voice that shouts “Jump!” to the man on the ledge. The late night sucker-punch. The bottle hurled by a soccer hooligan. The ambulance chase. The videoing of crash victims. The courage inside the balaclava. Modern media unleash prurience, remote-control violence outs base instincts. The suicide-bomber enters The Matrix (where there’s a serious shortage of virgin dozens). Drones wash Pontius Pilate’s hands. During the Cold War, a handful had access to the red button, now everyone has, and there is always someone pushing one somewhere. Internet Trolls shit-stir immune. Beheadings are Hollywood. Yet, as always, the Emperor has no clothes; the caliph is in the altogether. Faceless prophet, naked lieutenant.