Blacksburg.

After an absence of such unconscionable length I would normally begin with a lengthy, overgrown, but ultimately less-than-particularly-heartfelt apology, but in this case I will dispense with the formalities. I had been working on a few posts in recent weeks, dealing with everything from jury duty to racism (one and the same?), and was actually ready to post a few thoughts, when the shootings at Virginia Tech occurred. And so for the last few nights I've been pretty sleepless with not much else to think about.

Let me first say that this post will not be a laundry list of would-haves, could-haves, and should-haves from my egocentric perspective, as I do not stand nor ever hope to stand in the shoes of any of those involved or affected. Let me also make this clear - there will be no guilt, no blame, no politics. This is not the time. Instead, I will open up my personal history books for a while, which may give you some idea of the possibilities of mental and existential despair, for those of you who sit in the middle 95% of the bell curve and may not ever have needed to deal with such things.

Now that we are in Day 3 of the fallout, there is alot of talk about prevention. What can we do to make universities more secure. When will we institute stricter gun control. Why did Cho do this. Why was he so angry. Why didn't we see it coming.

Well we can't. We're not psychic.

This particularly ill individual was indeed far from a smokeless fire, but ultimately, his decisions were his own. Whatever oversimplified rationales society may slap on him as time passes, casting blame here on violent entertainment there on questionable security and everywhere on gun control, the fact remains that it was an act of free will. And you will likely never be able to fully understand it. He can perform for you his tragic fairytale through photographs, videos, and prose, and in his mind he is perfectly clear. But despite all of this, despite anyone's best efforts, no message ever comes across 100%. While the actual thought, the flash of light and energy between synapses of creation, is absolutely and undeniably perfect, the diffusion of that thought beyond the bounds of its womb always brings with it a certain degree of loss.

When you are at the edge of despair, staring into the blackness waiting for a response that you know will never come, you engage yourself in a bit of a struggle... because you want a response, you look behind you for a reaction, the interaction, you want someone to understand you, despite all your displays to the contrary. And so you start sending out feelers. And you wait. Did anyone notice? You hint a little stronger. And stronger, and stronger, until you cross the point at which maybe someone may have noticed, but the thoughts have rotted so badly that you no longer care. Fuck them, you say. They don't care anyway. They don't even know that they don't. And so you turn away from them for the last time, and decide that given the alternative of enduring a living hell of people who will never try to, let alone actually, understand, you'd rather jump.

There is alot of angst out there, alot of rage against the rich and the privileged and the "system," all of which so coldly victimize you... while they have it, you have not... though you know to the depths of your being that you deserve it far more than they do. The world is unjust. And you want justice.

But can you in a single breath create or, perhaps, in your view, exact, this justice? Do you even care to see that far? Could you if you tried?

Why me? -I would ask. I deserve so much more, I endured the more painful struggle, I labor so arduously every second of existence for the same things that you take so blithely for granted. You morally corrupt and intellectually vacuous shells...you have everything. You have it so easy yet you bitch and you whine and you rage about how difficult your pathetic lives are. Can you not see? Can you not see the difference between us? How can you not understand? What do I deserve? What do you deserve? What do you deserve?

It's a one-sided conversation, because no one answers back. I read somewhere that when these types of mental problems arise, boys tend to project outward while girls turn the anger in towards themselves.

Well, we all know that I am not the typical girl.

I honestly don't know if many high school aged kids spend a considerable amount of their consciousness dreaming up "Jeremy's spoken"-type scenarios, but I did. And it was indescribably, incomprehensibly, excruciatingly painful. Pain, you see, isn't a smart bomb, it isn't limited, it's not effectively contained. And that's why it's the weapon of choice, because pain causes collateral damage, because pain is a slow death. And I carried it with me all the time, and my cup runneth over with it... But ultimately true to girl form, despite the rage, the anguish, the pain, I didn't act on it, not immediately, and not physically towards others, anyway, though I can guarantee you that if there was a gun in that house, or if I had just an ounce more of courage while holding that knife, or if I had taken just one more bottle of pills, I would not be here typing this today.

I am by no means apologizing for Cho nor do I mean to mitigate the enormity of his actions. I am only trying to show you the faint line at which the bough breaks, the baby falls, and all hope vaporizes as the once passive, helpless, self-assessed victim bursts forth from the cocoon as victimizer, razing without discern, spewing forth pain in a final raging fire.

And that's where things get confusing, if they aren't already. Some people cross that line. They do it. They go through with it. Some of those people leave behind notes, in a last desperate effort to be understood. Some of those people mail packages of letters and pictures and videos, aiming presumably for glory. But all of those people, if they were still here, would be utterly disappointed. Because they have all left behind questions, the answers to which they were sure they had already made clear in their final act.

And on the other hand, some people inch right up to that line, they eye it, trace it with their fingertips, perhaps even extend a limb or two into the other side, once or twice, just to see... but they hesitate. Maybe it's worth it? Ah...but the permanence of it all... Maybe the next day or two will be better. Maybe next year, maybe next decade. And maybe that's it, that it's hope, or if not hope then at least curiosity, that keeps them on this side. Because no matter how bad it is, maybe, just maybe, it could be better later on. And maybe I'd like to stick around to see if that happens.

But of course, I still occasionally take a look at that other side, though less frequently now. And I've come to accept that while some parts of life fucking suck, it is what it is. There will be people who are better off, worse off, who are aware of it and who aren't. The universe is not out to victimize anyone. Ultimately, there is no grand conspiracy. And so within this revised existential framework, I am free to live as I choose. And as free will, like pain, can never be effectively constrained, I take care to use it gently.

I'm not really sure where I am going with this now, as it is getting late and I am running out of steam... but in essence this is a long-winded way of saying that the answer doesn't lie in gun control, or metal detectors, or politics or rhetoric or any of that bullshit. Sadly, there is no answer. Not everything is preventable... We're not psychic, we can't see the future, and so we can never be 100% sure no matter how strongly we suspect. But we can't blame ourselves for that. Sometimes, we come across the outliers. Sometimes, individual will and resolve is stronger than we'd like. Sometimes, shit happens despite our best controls.

And sometimes, hindsight is 20/20. But not all of the time.

In future posts I may explore this further, or examine other related issues or nuances. But for now, I guess I will leave it here. Deepest sympathies to the extended Blacksburg community. My heart aches for you.