Some of us are not good at doing the safe thing. Some of us are not cut from the same thread,some nervous system tick that kicks in and drives us through safe judicious logic… Adrenaline epinephrine release takes hold of our hearts and souls as the archangel spirit of Doing the Right Thing consumes us wholly. We see crazed-red as the chemicals saturate our brains and seep far into our muscle tissue and bone – and everything else trembles and flows to its end,taking the world around us with it. We fling and hurl star-bound rocks toward the pinpoint warheads at our fingertips and vocal chords. Blind and omnipotent. For Good or Ill – towards our own destruction or simply through tonight and another day.
People will come en masse bearing common parables of The Smart Thing To Do, Responsibility and Preservation and Reasoning. And Luck.
And Luck kills for no reason,luck puts us in the wrong place at the wrong time, luck is faultless and guiltless. Luck lets us live or gets us hit by a runaway freight train driven off the tracks by a small boy’s penny, whose father has left him for a bottle of cheap whiskey: Luck isn’t what prevented that specific bullet from killing anyone,it didn’t tear and shred the metal jacket off the concrete,or put that kid on that corner of Pierce and Center. The kid missed,on purpose or fear or stupid inexperience or simple foolishness…
Natch,the Smart Thing To Do is always to give up your property – your property can be replaced,your life can’t in some simpler grade school weight scale. But these concepts don’t balance in our heads. We burn for justice and an agonizing cry for some absolute truth and morality. To stand up for something greater than oneself. These things aren’t just axioms for us,they motivate our arm and leg movements in distinct and decisive directions. It doesn’t feel like just property as a victim – as something that you can simply replace and ignore and dismiss. Violation and fear and treachery and loss and injustice. And which path is making a difference? She could have been killed,but she wasn’t. Crimes like these happen what — nearly weekly,daily in Riverwest? A few lethal,others not… Luck,Fate again? Some blind god stacking aces against us? We do not pick and choose our battles; they pick us.
Do we see any effective pattern? Police, detectives,the Procedures are followed and we simply pass by,watching, commenting,and seldom acting when we should. We see cyclical results in crime statistics that drive a few of us to the polls on some semi-annual basis,influenced by the latest numbers trends percentages on city,state,and national levels.
But never the personal scale. Crimes are justified against ideas,generalizations, neighborhoods,races,nations – but never against the human mind and soul at the end of the gun,with its myriad of beliefs,knowledge, insight,history,experience. As humans grow number and farther away from this notion,the closer we move towards our own oppression and collapse on a very intimate and personal level across the Earth.
I wish I had been there,but I’d be dead,or he’d be in the hospital. A or B. There would be no other outcome. It’s just the way I’m made. Jen probably had the right balance – she wasn’t threatening his life enough to make the kid feel like he had no option but to shoot her,but she was unruly and aggressive enough that he couldn’t convince her to play along with the gangster story he had in mind. In the end,it was just a stupid kid who couldn’t bring himself to really shoot someone… Just another impoverished kid looking for free money,status & kicks in Riverwest’s transformation by the artists and students who probably look like easy targets to those forgotten by the pro-business interests’ policy that’s leaving us all behind.