Killed Me

Don’t think that life is somewhere over the rainbow. What you’ve got right now, with your family, your friends, your house: this might be as good as life is ever going to be. Life is not happening on the other side of the rainbow. We are on the other side of the rainbow.

—rabbi Shaul Praver, upon Shabbat, for Noah Posner

I’m not mad. Because I have my agency to make sure that I use this event to do what I can to do whatever I can. I want to make sure that my family, my wife and my daughters, are taken care of. And that, if there is anything I can do to help anybody, at any time, anywhere, I’d be willing to do that.

—Robbie Parker, father of Emilie Parker

All the guns are going to go. That’s where the nation is going, it’s inevitable, and people will be much happier once they get there. In the meantime, all initiatives that arc that way should be supported.

The guns, they are done. They are instruments of living in Fear. And Fear is over. It’s no longer necessary. It is a product of the lizard brain. The brain is bigger Emilie Parkerthan that now. The lizard brain peaked hundreds of millions of years ago. Its day is done.

The guns are going even from the police. Back in the 1970s, when the police militarization began truly getting out of hand, Ken Kesey incarnated a lightbringing piece in which he saw that the police need to “lay down the gun.” That’s going to happen.

And there won’t be any guns in the nation’s military. Because the nation won’t have a military. America is at peace with its neighbors, Canada and Mexico. And so no military is necessary.

Her eyes are so big. So blue. Emilie’s. The dead girl. Extinguished in Newtown. Pictured above. Her eyes. There is all and all there. How could they ever be extinguished? They are far and wise and penetrating and they could all so truly teach and how the fuck do we go on.

Killed me.
She says.
You killed me.

In the early reports, two years ago, on the 14th of December, out of Connecticut, I was struck by this:

Connecticut is reaching out to other states to help with autopsies because they don’t have enough medical examiners.

There was no shortage of people with guns arriving on the scene. There never is. But for healers, Connecticut had to go out of state.

That is precisely the opposite of the way it should be. Wouldn’t it be nice if there were always a surfeit of healers, always on hand? But for folks with guns, a call would have to go out to other states?

That’s what’s coming. The age of the warrior is over. Old, and totally in the way. It’s the era of healers now.

Already happened.
Already happened.
Already happened.

All the guns are going to go. Guns are finished. Humans don’t want them anymore. They are an appendix of the age of the warrior, which is finally fucking over. We are in the age of the healer now. Killing is done. We are now about living.

People who live the requisite number of years experience, and therefore understand, that the child moves on from the parent. And then the child of that child, since become a parent, moves on from there. And so, we are, in this way moving on, from the killing-place there. From, and to, a place, where there shall be no guns. No killing.

We know this, because we’ve been to the mountaintop. And we’ve looked over.

Meanwhile, so what, if there is, in some retrograde knuckledragging country called “America,” a “Second Amendment”? Some sicko word-cluster saying that any and all can get themselves a giant kill-me? Like how you killed me. Killed me. Emilie Parker. Killed me. Noah Posner. Killed me. You killed me. Killed me.

And the thing makes no goddam sense. Killed me. The amendment. Killed me. It’s like it was written by a wino. Killed me. You’d get a flunk, if you heaved it into an English class. Killed me. To wit:

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

The thing is a mutant. Killed me. Retarded. Killed me. There was like, maybe, a bridge, once planned, constructed between clauses, but the thing was, before it was ever finished, blown up, like the The Bridge On The River Kwai. Killed me. It makes no sense. Killed me.

And whosoever wrote the thing?

Old dead white men. Dust for more than two centuries. Who had never seen a light bulb. Who conceived not of the automobile, much less the space shuttle. Who were unacquainted with germs. Who were not altogether unconvinced that if someone went Bad, a sulfurous demon upbubbling from Hell should be blamed. Who abjured noahbathing, because they believed that immersion in water could prove fatal.

Benjamin Franklin, regarded today as a sort of super all-around genius, strongly recommended that his fellow Americans cleanse themselves solely through the method of shedding one’s clothing, and then standing naked in the faint breeze passing between two open windows.

Eons would pass between baths for this water-fearing fellow. If the historical Franklin were at this moment to come into your presence, the stench would prove so overpowering you would run from him like Richard Pryor with his body on fire.

Franklin also kept his nephew chained to the floor of a barn for the last 30 years of his life, as such was then considered the most “humane” treatment for the mentally ill.

For more than 220 years, people in this country have retarded their evolutionary development by continuing to suck at the shriveled empty teats of bewigged bath-fearing ignorant old white men long ago dead as the dust of the ground.

No. That’s finished. We sing, now, our own song.


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When I Worked

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