Today's OneWord: Living
Living is easy when there are no guns. No guns with six or more bullets in their skulls. No guns with iron teeth biting into your calf. Your thigh. Your groin. Your pelvis. Your stomach. Your heart. Your brain. Gray matter spoiled and rotten like curdled milk. Ending your love-filled existence.
Twenty dead. All children. And yet people validate these monsters. So you like your guns. Why? Bobby likes fire. But if he plays with it, it’s called arson. Fair enough. Jessie likes knives. But if she plays with them, it’s considered dangerous. Very accurate. Henry throws rocks at birds. He’s put down for being cruel. Which is true. And yet as soon as someone whips out a Glock or a semi-automatic, by God, will people tell you to never, ever question their freedoms. We actually give intellectual credit for people who think that carrying around a machine solely designed to kill is a privilege to be taken seriously. People who think the solution to the deaths of twenty children in Connecticut is to hand out more machines solely designed to kill. It’s a joke. A really disgusting joke. And no one’s laughing.
Twenty dead. All children. And yet people validate these monsters. So you like your guns. Why? Bobby likes fire. But if he plays with it, it’s called arson. Fair enough. Jessie likes knives. But if she plays with them, it’s considered dangerous. Very accurate. Henry throws rocks at birds. He’s put down for being cruel. Which is true. And yet as soon as someone whips out a Glock or a semi-automatic, by God, will people tell you to never, ever question their freedoms. We actually give intellectual credit for people who think that carrying around a machine solely designed to kill is a privilege to be taken seriously. People who think the solution to the deaths of twenty children in Connecticut is to hand out more machines solely designed to kill. It’s a joke. A really disgusting joke. And no one’s laughing.
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