Monday, December 17, 2012

Free Range Thoughts Grazing the Prairies of Fate

You know what I want to see now?  Guns.  More guns, millions of guns.  Over the weekend a citizen at a mall, legally carrying a handgun, almost took out another shooter, but you aren't likely to read that in your newspaper or hear about it on your TV news show (one Jacob Tyler Roberts was confronted by an armed citizen, and then he ran away and ultimately shot himself. By the time police arrived, Roberts was already dead*). In fact, people who aren't cops who possess permits to carry guns do save lives every year by taking out a significant number of society's gun murderers.  We just don't hear about these heroes.  And we surely won't hear about them from liberal Democrats rabidly jumping on the gun control issue currently, caring as they routinely do about extracting our freedoms in exchange for government control.  Connecticut’s liberal rulers gifted the state with some of the most stringent gun laws in the country, and the school stood as a monument to worthless “no gun” areas.  If there’s a joke here, it’s the elaborate electronic entry system at the school – easily blown to hell by rage wielded by a mind on fire.

Last night, President Obama spoke in Newtown, insisting we have to do something.  Strange, how strange, that he and Eric Holder didn't feel quite so speedy about Fast and Furious investigations, where the government apparently did monster gun-running duties.  Illegal guns, you see.  They killed our agent and lots and lots of Mexicans.  Not to mention gun-running by way of Benghazi, another matter on the slow burner. 

Then there's Major Hassan, the "alleged" Fort Hood shooter.  Gotta keep his new beard or we can't have justice. Maybe just let him go and become the President's advisor on matters of the mind and guns -- after all, he is a qualified professional member of the psychiatric community.  With his help, maybe we can build tons of psychiatric hospitals and be the old Soviet Union, where every contrary political case is a mental case.

The mainstream media got so many things wrong with initial reports on Friday that they should never be trusted again, not even to issue weather reports for the moon.  Their job is to fit every calamity into some desire for control on the part of liberal Democrats.  They serve none but their masters.

And there's Mayor Bloomberg, the shining jewel of NY City, calling to deprive citizens of the protections guaranteed under the Second Amendment -- but will he disarm his bodyguards to demonstrate safety in the streets? In homes invaded by thugs?

So, the whys of Connecticut soar, and we wonder if. . .

Why Sandy Hook School? Did the shooter revisit his past and kill because he wanted to erase his own childhood. . .by killing adults standing in his way, and then children in the classroom so they wouldn't inherit what he felt, and grow up to be like him?  Did he think he was saving their lives by taking them away?  Was it just raw power?  Or was it just an easy hit at a place known in advance as a place of non-resistance where he could release his demons?  Twisted and turned and broken. . .he stayed by himself, a loner who had no friends. . .but did he need friends?  People can be such obstacles, a nuisance to be barely tolerated and avoided at all costs. . .and when one grows up with the soothing comfort of the computer screen and games and strange new places to visit on the Internet. . .and video games of fun and violence and desensitization. . .who needs social interaction. . .and they'll just laugh at you behind your back anyway. . .even if you are a good student who eventually had to be home-schooled and maybe too smart for college courses which you took at age 16. . .and they say you don't fit in, but you didn't want to fit in, and fit into what if you did. . .and what is real and what is not real. . .. . .and the doctors say just take these pills. . .and you don't like the pills and you just want to tell the doctors to shove them up their. . .and your mother keeps interfering. . .and as a survivalist she thinks the end is coming anyway. . . and you know she loves you and you her, but you can't take it anymore. . .and maybe her conversations are getting louder, or seem louder. . .and it doesn't seem she's on your side anymore. . .but the world doesn't care anyway at your age and what's left out there anyway. . .so the ideas in your head rage and burn and enlighten and warn you. . .and you know you think differently from others. . .and you're smarter than the rest, so smart that your IQ should make you king of the world. . .and the school is a gun-free zone, the perfect place for people with guns. . .but first there's something else you have to do. . .after you smash the computer equipment responsible for such personal joy as you electronically murdered and lopped off body parts with blissful violent abandon. . . and so you do it and then you do that other thing and she is dead, never to argue, criticize or advise again, and that's a good thing because her ideas had become too crazy and so dangerous and you literally feared they would take you away. . .or maybe you wished they would, just for excitement. . .but what did you do. . .it really was the end of the world for her. . .and now you're unshackled and free to do what you want. . .even though they wouldn't sell you a gun, but you have guns anyway, right here. . .yes, they considered you a little weird and nothing you could do was right, even when they praised you with their lies. . .but now you're going to make it right. . .and show them, show them all. . .and nobody will laugh at you ever again. . .because you're in control, a kind of control they'll never have, a kind that money can't buy. . .and you'll set it right again, even though you know somewhere that you can't. . .confusion boggles your mind, but your destiny is clear and you'll pursue it at any cost. . .maybe resulting in the loss of your own life, you think. . .but maybe you can get away at last, escape from it all and from them. . .so you look around and realize everything's a sham, everybody's against you. . .and now she's dead, you killed her, and what's the next logical step. . .but logic escapes you, so you grab the firearms and go to the school because it just seems so right, your next stop on the road to something you have to do. . .and you drive and you arrive. . .and nothing can stop you or even dare to stop you now. . .and it’s no different than being at the shooting range. . .so you blast your way in because no security measures can prevent your entrance, your grand entrance, and they see you and, whoa! Aren't they impressed and frightened because their lives are yours now and they know it. . .and you make your way through a path cleared of anybody likely to deter you. . .and the classrooms at last. . .you knew it would be like fish in a barrel. . .and it was done, all those things you had to do and it was easy because they were too young to know or ask why. . .and what was left to do, you hear the sirens, and maybe even the voices of encouragement in your head. . .but the sirens are louder and there's no time left now. . .so you decide to check out, and it doesn't matter if they know why you did it and it doesn't matter that nobody will be able to tell them why, because you know why. . .and maybe the last thing you hear is a click initiated by yourself, a metallic click bathed in a fountain of urgent sounds from outside the school. . .and you probably don’t realize that the very last thing you did in the classroom with the handgun will be the only thing that makes sense to outsiders incapable of either grasping your shadows or chasing away their own.

(* A belated thank you to terry the censor, who updated and corrected me regarding Jacob Tyler Roberts, mentioned at the beginning of this entry.)