Real

I'm taking off the mask for a moment.

I feel old. Trying to cope with the amount of information I deal with in a day is taxing. But, I wouldn't do it if I didn't think I could handle it.

I came close to breaking down this week. I'm on the nerve-lines of the world, and this is what it's feeling right now.

Pain.
Torture and death are what are defining us right now. Even here in Canada, bloody murder is being committed, and those committing it aren't feeling what they're doing. Even though I am, from the safety of this room, reading about it on my computer screen, I have a chilling feeling. Tortured and dying, or lying dead.

Why?

To you pundits, you can debate all you like. You can politic this away as a failing of whatever legal system or political party you want to blame. Somebody's lying dead, and even you aren't able to feel the sense of loss that's coming with it.

That was a person. That was somebody's daughter that was raped and murdered on a Stony Plain golf course. That was, in the grand scheme, a contributor to the future. A sliver of hope, snuffed out by the broken and twisted ambitions of some sick counter-culturalist who had a grudge against the living.

Life's fucked up. But that doesn't mean you pick a kid out of a crowd at a shopping mall and decide it's her time to die.
You aren't fucking God.
You aren't fucking anything.

Don't even get me started on the torture that those two parents in England subjected their daughter to.

Christ.
I'm going to go for now.