Thursday, August 21, 2008


From the Archives (18 April 2007)
Take a step back for a moment and think about how frightening those shootings at VA Tech were yesterday, and then consider—painful though it may be to do so—that Iraqis face that kind of massacre every day, and they have done so for several years. ...

32 people died in Virginia on Monday and 65 perished in separate attacks in Iraq the day before. The latter hardly made the news.—Joshua Holland
Um. One example is a contained and theoretically safe place of learning with a safety department assigned to protect folks, and one example is an entire country that's at war being bomboarded by soldiers who signed up for the armed services.

But you’re right. Innocent people are dying violently and our public policies do drive (or at least contribute to) this continued violence.

Lawdgawd these are sobering times. And the sad reality is that survivors will now flash back to bloody VTU or Columbine or Amish classrooms when the slightest trigger reminds them of them of the slaughter they survived.

Maybe it's a solidarity thing, but the fact that the shooter was an English major—someone who wrote plays and poems, used a creative venue to try to give voice to the chaos and psychosis and violence that terrorized him—bothers me too.

"It was not bad poetry. It was intimidating," poet Nikki Giovanni said of his violent writing (after she kicked him out of her poetry class because he intimidated other writers).

Yeah. Psychotic people are intimidating. And potentially dangerous.


When the killer wrote, was he using language to sort through the chaos, to explore his anger à la Larry Brown? Or was he using language as a vehicle for creating a virtual world where violence reigns and paranoid megalomaniacal fantasies can run unfettered?

The jaded self-loathing part of me says, Well, at least the guy was trying to get in touch with his anger—which is more than I can say for this scattered writer, who paid boocoodles of money to complete graduate writing studies at a private institution and even dared to call herself a writer once upon a time, but who has since sunk into the tepid managerial workaholic waters that, way too often, numb my feelings in the name of higher efficiency (and the occasional night of sleep).

And what's my excuse for not updating this blog in so long?

Well, the truth is simple.
1. I am so freaking busy with my new boss that I don't have the luxury of insight right now;

2. Danishgrrrl sometimes reads my back entries and becomes upset by my descriptions of previous lovers, and then compares these experiences to our hectic life together while doubting my commitment to her;

3. I am too scattered to even think much these days and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight short of quitting my job.
My reality is that acclimating to life with Danishgrrrl (and her three kids, one dog, one cat, one bird, and frequent need to process) feels, in general, like an exercise in giving up all hope of time for reflection.

The trade-off is good though and I am drawing up plans for a poetry shack that will help me find some precious time alone eventually.

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