This week some kid walks into his school and kills almost a dozen people and himself. The media covers every possible angle of the story and people start to blame all kinds of things for the shooting. They blame the guns, the music, the clothes, the internet and anything else that they can.
As the news rolls out, we learn that this kid's dad committed suicide a couple of years back, that his mother is in a nursing home and that one of his victims was his grandfather. There is a lot of talk about how the killings happened, and how kids teased the shooter, and how kids tried to make friends with him.
I take an interest in these incidents for several reasons, and in several ways. I could tell you about the fact that I spent a year studying education with the intent of being a history teacher, or that I have a BA in Criminal Justice and wanted to be a cop when I started college and then wanted to do security planning. I could talk about the novel length manuscript I have written about a school shooting, but the thing that draws me to these school shootings more than anything else is that I have sat in that chair. The chair of the shooter, that place where everything was so bad, so dark and with out a future that I wanted to grab a sub machine gun an mow down a bunch of randum assholes, school administrators, jocks and others. I have felt that rage and desire to lash out.
I can clearly recall the day that I was just pushed too far. It was Jr. High School, all I wanted was to get into the building, but some asshole older kids wouldn't let me open the door. I had endured months of their threats, assaults, ice balls to the nose, harassment, and general domination and bullying, and I had enough. I didn't care that they were just fuckin' around, I didn't care about how it would effect their families, their fiends or the community. I only cared about the fact that I had no power, that those who did had so much contempt for me that they would fuck with me rather than ignore me, and that the authorities who were charged with protecting me wouldn't intervene to stop the harassment and assaults, and wouldn't let me fight back either. I was just pushed to far.
I had one thing that really stopped me from lashing out. Ok there were two things, the first was my family and the second was that I didn't have a Thompson A 1 .45 ACP Sub Machine Gun handy (they are illegal unless you are rich and can afford a class III firearms License). My family, I knew that my actions would make their lowly lives worse, I knew that I would cause them pain and heart ache, and I knew that they wouldn't understand.
So I channeled all that anger, all that pain into the slow death of eating. I hated myself for living, for being flawed and for being fat. I injected the momentary joy of sugar and pastries and followed my mother down the path of cheese-its addiction.
All of this is to say that we all choose our unmaking, and we all pay in one way or another. We damage ourselves, and we damage others, rejection, objectification, dismissal, dehumanization, and some of us get to the point where we loose our way, or maybe we see it more clearly, and we break with the norms of society.
I look at what happened and all I can say is that we lost one through the cracks, we let one go, and we paid the price.
end notes:
1) no body freak, I've seen the light and I know the best revenge is to live and watch all the assholes and fools destroy themselves.
2) Deadwood killer show, why is it that HBO had all the good serialized TV, The Wire, Six Feet Under, and Deadwood? is it that network TV is way to pussy to put anything good on?
3) STOOL on Tuesday night, can't wait it's been too long since I was at a rock show....
As the news rolls out, we learn that this kid's dad committed suicide a couple of years back, that his mother is in a nursing home and that one of his victims was his grandfather. There is a lot of talk about how the killings happened, and how kids teased the shooter, and how kids tried to make friends with him.
I take an interest in these incidents for several reasons, and in several ways. I could tell you about the fact that I spent a year studying education with the intent of being a history teacher, or that I have a BA in Criminal Justice and wanted to be a cop when I started college and then wanted to do security planning. I could talk about the novel length manuscript I have written about a school shooting, but the thing that draws me to these school shootings more than anything else is that I have sat in that chair. The chair of the shooter, that place where everything was so bad, so dark and with out a future that I wanted to grab a sub machine gun an mow down a bunch of randum assholes, school administrators, jocks and others. I have felt that rage and desire to lash out.
I can clearly recall the day that I was just pushed too far. It was Jr. High School, all I wanted was to get into the building, but some asshole older kids wouldn't let me open the door. I had endured months of their threats, assaults, ice balls to the nose, harassment, and general domination and bullying, and I had enough. I didn't care that they were just fuckin' around, I didn't care about how it would effect their families, their fiends or the community. I only cared about the fact that I had no power, that those who did had so much contempt for me that they would fuck with me rather than ignore me, and that the authorities who were charged with protecting me wouldn't intervene to stop the harassment and assaults, and wouldn't let me fight back either. I was just pushed to far.
I had one thing that really stopped me from lashing out. Ok there were two things, the first was my family and the second was that I didn't have a Thompson A 1 .45 ACP Sub Machine Gun handy (they are illegal unless you are rich and can afford a class III firearms License). My family, I knew that my actions would make their lowly lives worse, I knew that I would cause them pain and heart ache, and I knew that they wouldn't understand.
So I channeled all that anger, all that pain into the slow death of eating. I hated myself for living, for being flawed and for being fat. I injected the momentary joy of sugar and pastries and followed my mother down the path of cheese-its addiction.
All of this is to say that we all choose our unmaking, and we all pay in one way or another. We damage ourselves, and we damage others, rejection, objectification, dismissal, dehumanization, and some of us get to the point where we loose our way, or maybe we see it more clearly, and we break with the norms of society.
I look at what happened and all I can say is that we lost one through the cracks, we let one go, and we paid the price.
end notes:
1) no body freak, I've seen the light and I know the best revenge is to live and watch all the assholes and fools destroy themselves.
2) Deadwood killer show, why is it that HBO had all the good serialized TV, The Wire, Six Feet Under, and Deadwood? is it that network TV is way to pussy to put anything good on?
3) STOOL on Tuesday night, can't wait it's been too long since I was at a rock show....
I can just hear it now:
"studies prove that teenagers and young adults that wear brightly colored clothing from american eagle, abercrombie and fitch, and old navy were 30 times less likely to commit a violent crime!*
*not including date rapes, bar brawls, car accidents, or other incidents occuring while under the influence."
when preppy types kill a bunch of kids by drunkenly hitting them with daddy's SUV or by inventing cruel frat entry trials (the typical name of which escapes me), it's blamed on the school or college, bars or clubs, or the parents; never the kids. when it's some poor dude getting fucked with on a daily basis, it seems the blame is directly or indirectly on him and the choices he made (what he chose to wear, what he chose to listen to, etc). because, you know, he was a WEIRDO, which made kids pick on him.
I'm tired of it. he has a fucked up family history including, presumably, emotional/mental problems, and suffers emotional abuse on a regular basis; helllooooo people - doesn't take rocket science.