I just don't know what to say anymore. I feel like I finally understand why angry prophets ripped their clothes and wore sackcloth and ashes. Not that I'm a prophet, but I feel that angry and saddened by the continued violence in Chicago.
Her name was Hadiya Pendleton and she was killed while taking refuge during a storm. She had just returned from performing with her band in Obama's inauguration. Last year they played in Mardi Gras. This year they had plans to go to Dublin and Paris.
Some things said about her by family and friends:
She wanted to be a pharmacist or journalist. She was one of those people everyone loved. She loved Coldplay and Maroon 5. She had two left feet. She will be missed.
Are people more upset about spoiler alerts today than they used to be? Or do we just hear more people whining and moaning about spoiler alerts? Recently some event happened in the very popular British import, Downton Abbey. For awhile I was chuckling at all the reactions of people on Facebook. Most of them were managing to express their anger and shock without mentioning names or exact events.
And then I was noticing some people reacting strongly to others, presumably on Facebook, that had spoiled the actual events for them. And these people were ticked. Once again, I chuckled a bit at them and scoffed. These are clearly first world problems, and we seriously need to get some perspective on things.
And then it happened to me. Today. It was so sudden. So quick. So fast. Like a tiny ninja sneaking up behind me and slitting my throat. I barely had time to process what happened. I was scrolling through my feed over lunch break, and then I saw four simple words, "Oh no, not name!" I was stunned. Sputtering. Shaking my head.
That's all it took. Four words. I tried to keep my cool, but I did respond in this person's comments saying the person should get an award for the best or worst spoiler alert ever. And now I know who not to get too attached to as I soon will be starting the second season. The friend responded that I (meaning me) don't know what exactly happened. True. But I am pretty sure that the recent words used such as "tragic," "shocking," etc, indicate that this character didn't simply fall in the mud while dismounting a horse.
I think this is all just more collateral damage of media saturated culture. We have all these avenues of watching shows at our leisure - DVR, streaming, downloading to your hard drives, etc. And we also have a social media that has almost become extensions of our brains, so we can immediately express our reactions to events. We no more think a thought than we then put it on Facebook. We are shocked by a turn of events in a show, and we all do this collectively shared gasp on Facebook or Twitter. It's almost as if the tail is wagging the dog now. We don't know how to experience something without convulsively and immediately vomiting it up for everyone to see.
Yeah, I said vomit. I think the distance between our brains and Facebook is becoming as short as our mouth and the puke bucket. I'm not entirely above this. When my wife says something funny, I immediately want to share it with everyone, and sometimes I do. I suppose that's not a bad thing, but what would I have done before Facebook or Twitter or...uh....Google Plus (Bahahaha, bless Google Plus's heart )?
What would I have done without Facebook or Twitter? Cherished the moment? Wrote about it in a journal? I really can't remember anymore. I think social media has effectively rewired the way I think. And that really frightens me.
Okay, this post started off talking about spoiler alerts and has hopped, skipped and jumped into the perils of social media.
What I really wanted to say is so what? So what if we know that Luke Skywalker's dad is Darth Vader? So what if we know she's really a man? So what if we know who Keyser Soze?
I contend if the story is good enough, the characters are well developed, and the dialogue is rich, those spoilers will not diminish the enjoyment of a good movie or TV show. In fact, sometimes those twist endings or big reveals often overshadow the greatness of a good movie. And in some cases, no matter how amazing the twist at the end is, your movie or TV show could still suck. Yes, I'm talking to you M. Night Shyamalan, specifically in regards to The Village and to a lesser extent, Signs.
Oh, and: Spoiler Alert! You will die at the end. Make sure your life is more than a sad ending.
I had a new sensation this morning while waiting on the train. I felt my left eyebrow freeze. Well, I'm pretty sure that's what it is. I should say that I've also felt my nose hairs freeze. Apparently not everyone has experienced this sensation. If you've played with tiny magnets and felt them pull each other. It kinda feels like that, except in your nose. It kinda tickles too. I must admit I kinda liked it.
The eyebrow thing is new, though. It felt like there was cake icing in eyebrow. I always figured my eyebrows were pretty dry, but I wonder if some residual shower water was trapped in my eyebrow hairs. At any rate, it was a new sensation.
Leaning my head against the train window,
closing my eyes to try and get a short nap,
the morning sun and shadow flicker violently against my eyelids
and I remember why I hate riding on this side of the train.
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Driving to catch the 7:46 I project my own desire
for quiet time with God on the man in a suit with a pepper beard,
floating through the mist, wearing a Taqiyah and weaving
his prayer beads around his wrists and hands.
I do not understand much of anything in this world. And I can't even begin to understand the madness and evil that led the despicable act in Connecticut today. It's clear this world so unsafe and dreadful at times. I don't get it. I know there is hope. I believe in the hope found in Christ. I still can't make sense of this insanity, though.
For some reason it all made me think of the mad man, poet, philosopher, prophet, artist, and visionary, William Blake. He seemed to see paradoxes in the world pretty clearly. Some would say he was nuts. Maybe that's the same thing.
At any rate, here are a few of his poems that echo some of my feelings on the event.
Holy Thursday
Is this a holy thing to see
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reduced to misery
Fed with cold and usurous hand?
Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!
And their sun does never shine.
And their fields are bleak & bare.
And their ways are fill'd with thorns.
It is eternal winter there.
For where-e’er the sun does shine,
And where-e’er the rain does fall:
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall.
The Lamb
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
By the stream and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little lamb, I'll tell thee;
Little lamb, I'll tell thee:
He is called by thy name,
For He calls Himself a Lamb.
He is meek, and He is mild,
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are called by His name.
Little lamb, God bless thee!
Little lamb, God bless thee!
The Tyger
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
