REDUNDANT NO MORE
They're silent now.
No more endless, empty words.
The previously clean paper that was so hastily cluttered up with meaningless drivel to justify their already decided plans now sits unreadable.
Not a word is being spoken now, as a look of stunned surprise on faces that once were clean, smug, and pretty as a picture, would look pale from shock, if they were visible, and not now bathed in blood and fragments of brain.
A brain, that once was so full of thoughts, experiences, images, hopes and dreams.
A brain of a person that had done so much, and wanted to do so much more, but was so ground down by the struggle to convince others.
A mind, that for a split-second forgot who possessed it, and forgot the people he so loved that would be so hurt from this one, fleeting, solitary moment of madness.
But how can this brain that was put to such good use, now be splattered on tables, across walls, and over the last two inconsequential people to have ever seen me before this act?
By taking a gun from my bag, quietly and without emotion, and pressing it firmly into the bottom of my mouth, all it took was a quick snap of a finger to metaphorically stick two up to them, and to all the others who couldn't give a damn.
Just a gentle squeeze to pierce a hole straight through me, and launch a cascade of blood and body tissue into the air, across the room, and over the representation of all that has hurt me.
The decisions they make so easily, in the comfort of their own lives, without a thought for the human cost and waste of talent and potential, becomes just ink on paper.
But their pen became a dagger, ripping out my heart; and the paper that only a moment ago was being filled up with my pain, has now become the blood-drenched ocean of my soul.
You couldn't, or wouldn't, see what was on my mind and inside my head before. But you certainly can't miss it now, as it drips down your cheek.
I wanted to wipe away the empty and meaningless look I saw on your faces, as you mechanically noted down my comments that I knew meant nothing to you and would make no difference.
So now, do your best to flick off my blood, and please make sure it's all properly written up, reported on, and filed away neatly, in the organisationally detached way that all good little servants and agents of pain and misery always do.
It's so much easier to do the devil's work when it's not happening to you or anyone you care about.
Wrap yourself up in the policies and procedures, insulate yourself from the person, and do only what the rules say.
Comfort yourself in the organisational justification for change; and breathe a sigh of relief that it's not you or those you care for or love.
At least, not yet.
Through the red of the blood soaked window, a bird is flying free. What drastic steps to have taken for that to be me.
But that bird is now flying home to its loved one and chicks, but sadly this will not now be for me.
There's only so much a person can take.
But when will those with power and privilege see and care? Usually not till it's far too late, as they now sit there dripping in what used to rush through my veins, giving me life and a reason to be.
I hope your reason to be, your actions and disinterest, has been worth it? Your memory of my last breath into your face and my head exploding into your eyes, might just act as a reminder.
When you see reports about an atrocity splashed across the news, and hear the repeated cries of "why?", maybe the answer for the person responsible might just be "well, why not?"
But that might be too difficult to fathom in this shallow, myopic, sound-bite driven world, so hooked on demonising, labelling as mad, and looking for easy answers for want of anything more useful.
The knee-jerk reaction and tireless and narrow 'Daily Mail' rants against anyone or anything that doesn't fit their limited view of the world.
Most things don't just happen for no reason, although the reasons might be hard to see for many, especially when they don't want to see.
But for those driven to such desperation they are likely quite rational to them in their world, with their experiences, their pressures, their pain, and their responses, or lack of anything beneficial from others.
When potentially destructive seeds are planted, and their care is continually ignored, or their roots are so callously ripped away, don't be surprised if something unwanted grows.
Maybe firmer foundations, better planting, regular watering, and careful appropriate tending, would go a long way to help.
Copyright: Gordon Warren (10/1/13)
They're silent now.
No more endless, empty words.
The previously clean paper that was so hastily cluttered up with meaningless drivel to justify their already decided plans now sits unreadable.
Not a word is being spoken now, as a look of stunned surprise on faces that once were clean, smug, and pretty as a picture, would look pale from shock, if they were visible, and not now bathed in blood and fragments of brain.
A brain, that once was so full of thoughts, experiences, images, hopes and dreams.
A brain of a person that had done so much, and wanted to do so much more, but was so ground down by the struggle to convince others.
A mind, that for a split-second forgot who possessed it, and forgot the people he so loved that would be so hurt from this one, fleeting, solitary moment of madness.
But how can this brain that was put to such good use, now be splattered on tables, across walls, and over the last two inconsequential people to have ever seen me before this act?
By taking a gun from my bag, quietly and without emotion, and pressing it firmly into the bottom of my mouth, all it took was a quick snap of a finger to metaphorically stick two up to them, and to all the others who couldn't give a damn.
Just a gentle squeeze to pierce a hole straight through me, and launch a cascade of blood and body tissue into the air, across the room, and over the representation of all that has hurt me.
The decisions they make so easily, in the comfort of their own lives, without a thought for the human cost and waste of talent and potential, becomes just ink on paper.
But their pen became a dagger, ripping out my heart; and the paper that only a moment ago was being filled up with my pain, has now become the blood-drenched ocean of my soul.
You couldn't, or wouldn't, see what was on my mind and inside my head before. But you certainly can't miss it now, as it drips down your cheek.
I wanted to wipe away the empty and meaningless look I saw on your faces, as you mechanically noted down my comments that I knew meant nothing to you and would make no difference.
So now, do your best to flick off my blood, and please make sure it's all properly written up, reported on, and filed away neatly, in the organisationally detached way that all good little servants and agents of pain and misery always do.
It's so much easier to do the devil's work when it's not happening to you or anyone you care about.
Wrap yourself up in the policies and procedures, insulate yourself from the person, and do only what the rules say.
Comfort yourself in the organisational justification for change; and breathe a sigh of relief that it's not you or those you care for or love.
At least, not yet.
Through the red of the blood soaked window, a bird is flying free. What drastic steps to have taken for that to be me.
But that bird is now flying home to its loved one and chicks, but sadly this will not now be for me.
There's only so much a person can take.
But when will those with power and privilege see and care? Usually not till it's far too late, as they now sit there dripping in what used to rush through my veins, giving me life and a reason to be.
I hope your reason to be, your actions and disinterest, has been worth it? Your memory of my last breath into your face and my head exploding into your eyes, might just act as a reminder.
When you see reports about an atrocity splashed across the news, and hear the repeated cries of "why?", maybe the answer for the person responsible might just be "well, why not?"
But that might be too difficult to fathom in this shallow, myopic, sound-bite driven world, so hooked on demonising, labelling as mad, and looking for easy answers for want of anything more useful.
The knee-jerk reaction and tireless and narrow 'Daily Mail' rants against anyone or anything that doesn't fit their limited view of the world.
Most things don't just happen for no reason, although the reasons might be hard to see for many, especially when they don't want to see.
But for those driven to such desperation they are likely quite rational to them in their world, with their experiences, their pressures, their pain, and their responses, or lack of anything beneficial from others.
When potentially destructive seeds are planted, and their care is continually ignored, or their roots are so callously ripped away, don't be surprised if something unwanted grows.
Maybe firmer foundations, better planting, regular watering, and careful appropriate tending, would go a long way to help.
Copyright: Gordon Warren (10/1/13)
