DESPOTS

  It only took a dozen years but I watched the final episode of The Hunger Games last night. Seventy-some years after a civil war, the oppressed underclass revolts against the ruler and a privileged upperclass. The only way to endure over 8 hours of screen time is that you know in the end the good guys win. The diabolical President holds out with his ruthless, vindictive schemes until he is killed in the end. His successor (a rebel) with her cadre of dedicated rebel followers replicate the same oppressive, dystopian government in reverse. The former, privileged, ruling class will be subjected to the same transgressions that sparked the rebellion. The heroine realized in the end that she had been manipulated by the devious new President’s promise of democracy and egalitarian rule. When The MockingJay is designated to execute (Bow & Arrow) the old President she kills the new President instead and the mob kills the old President. Then a good leader emerges, the sun comes out and it’s a happy ending for everyone. 
I like it when the good guys win. But even a long story on the big screen comes to an end but stories don’t end, movies end but stories keep unfolding with new characters and an evolving plot. It’s just a movie, one adventure in a larger story. Looking back all through the miniseries, President Snow (the evil schemer) grew more evil and more treacherous as his options died on the vine and he felt his grip slipping away. Donald Sutherland (Canadian actor) played President Snow. His appearance and demeanor made him appear as a warm and caring, fatherly figure but sooner or later everyone figures him out. Ultimately, with convincing bullshit, he justifies why the underclass must suffer an unthinkable,  devastating sacrifice in order for him to be (God) if you will and his tunnel vision, self righteous followers to live comfortably in that myth. 
When I was a little kid I peed on an electric fence, not knowing. The consequence was instantaneous. My experience with the movie was similar just in in slow motion. Sutherland’s character role modeled the Donald Trump stereotype. Narcissists around the world share the same self obsessed fixation but if they lack the means to suffer it upon the rest of the world, who cares. We all know a narcissist or two but we manage to avoid their insanity. However, if one falls into that niche (sinfully rich, powerful and omnipotent without a conscience) those despots and demagogues become world leaders. Vladimir Putin has the Russians eating out of his hand as he plunders Ukraine, making Russia great again. Hitler had Germans by the millions, signaling the Nazi salute as he attacked the Jewish problem. Cast from the same mold, Donald Trump takes aim on everyone who is not a white supremacist, an evangelical bigot, Misogynist, racist, self righteous nationalist or conspiracy addict. With seventy million voting admirers who think DT is God’s gift then he might as well be. The glaring weakness in a democracy is that voters can elect terrible, horrible leaders and the country is stuck with them. 
At the end of the movie you feel good but then it’s a movie. The real despots and demagogue leaders are like weeds in the flower bed. When you’ve pulled them all, a dandelion sprouts up underfoot and before you can uproot it another one pops up in its shadow. Trump bigots don’t surprise me. I just thought it would happen some other place, not here, not so soon. I don’t pick on him here in this blog often, no point. His loyal supporters won’t raise an eye lid. They can’t remember World War II.  Hitler comes off as a poor loser rather than a monster and we won it anyway. They want to make America Great Again, like it was when lynching blacks, beating your wife was legal and isolating people of color in ghettos was the rule. But watching the conclusion of The Hunger Games sort of set me off and see what that gets you. But I feel a little better getting it off my chest. 

HOLY MOLEY

  My Friday morning coffee group is made up of either members or friends of All Souls Unitarian/Universalist Church in Kansas City; that’s a mouthful. It’s not uncommon for people to confuse us with Unity, a left leaning, liberal, Christian denomination and though we do lean left and favor hard won knowledge over medieval mythology, we do not practice Christian religion. If we need a label it would be Secular Humanists. I can’t recall the source but I’m sure it has Buddhist roots, it goes; Whether or not there is a god at all is irrelevant. We are born with everything we need to live in peace and serve the greater good. In this coffee group our spiritual fingerprints can range from that of aggressive, hardshell atheists to passive disbelievers to simple unbelievers and agnostics, then come the philosophical agnostics and people who don’t like labels and balk at all of the ‘Come to Jesus’ hyperbole. Talk is cheap; we try to focus on what we do. What one truly believes is like cream in a jar, it comes to the top.
Yesterday (at coffee) one of our more aggressive atheists was chewing on a bone, that our minister was using the Big G (god) word and alluding to biblical wisdom way too much and it was not only inappropriate but offensive. How are you supposed to practice your atheist faith with all of that distraction. Me, on the other hand, I don't think of myself as an atheist rather, one of those philosophical agnostics. I don’t know and I don’t care. To my knowledge, no one has ever proven or disproved the God conundrum. I learned that the lack of compelling evidence does not prove anything. That was Bertrand Russell’s argument when debating his Christian adversaries in the late 1800’s. “In theory I am an agnostic but I go about my life with the atheists.” Leaning on Russell I feel like I am in good company. 
I make the distinction between unbelief and disbelief. I don’t believe because I have no reason to believe. It’s not an (Either, Or) but simply a vacant space. All logic and effort to find cause has failed so far and enough is enough. I don’t believe and I don’t care. Disbelief is simply belief turned upside down. It is a negative premise, predicated on the same emotional need that drives others to belief, some kind of direct or vicarious experience that creates an insatiable appetite to validate something that cannot be validated. Rather than keep digging in that bottomless hole I concur with Rhett Butler's rebuff of Scarlett O'Hara,(Clark Gable to Vivian Leigh); Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. 
Next time we will chew on a different bone and I will try to stay out of it. But when someone asks what I think, that old ‘Gone With The Wind’ quote doesn’t satisfy anybody. We, (Unitarians) pride ourselves on being tolerant with a high value on diversity but truth be known, sometimes we are neither, sounding more like upside down Pentecostals, more concerned about seizing the moment than turning the page. In the movie, ‘Grumpy Old Men’ when, from his bedroom window in the middle of the night, Walter Matthau first sees Ann Margaret on her snowmobile with her long hair and he mutters; “Holy Moley”. I don’t think he was sanctifying a righteous dude named Moley. Joseph Campbell said, “God is a metaphor to which we attribute everything profound and mysterious that we cannot comprehend, God must have done it.” (a metaphor). When I spit out an O.M.G. I am not claiming the big G. We take lots of liberties with religious language that resonates a secular if not condescending lack of piety. I know a guy who, when truly amazed, falls back on, “Jesus @%#king Christ!” and we all know he’s not preaching. So when our minister prefaces a humanist idea with something out of the bible, I understand and I take it for what it is. I’m really trying to be tolerant and appreciate the diverse nature of all things, temporal and spiritual. But ‘Spiritual’ is another loaded word for my hard-shell atheist amigos and I’m not up to another philosophical disclaimer. Holy Moley after all. 

LIKE A LAWNMOWER

  I’m not saying the World (Civilization) is worse and getting worser; all I’m  trying to say is that this world (planet) isn’t getting any bigger. Still, for the last few hundred years especially, Human population has been increasing at an unprecedented rate. Something to think about: world population was about 700 million people (six zeros after the 700) at the start of the Industrial Revolution (1750 CE) or Ebenezer Scrooge, factories. heavy machinery and wholesale burning of fossil fuel. After another 250 years (Now) population has surpassed 8 billion (nine zeros after the 8) an increase of about 1,040.% from then to now; a mind boggling gain in just 250 years. In the 240 years before factories and fossil fuels (1500 CE) Christopher Columbus, world population increased by about 450 million or 55.%. In the previous 250 years before Columbus, that would be (Marco Polo), world population increased by only about 50 million or 12.%. I see a pattern developing? For tens of thousands of years, human population gains using arbitrary 250 year increments were relatively modest. From 12% to 55% in two and a half centuries is significant but from that to over 1,000% in the next period is absolutely mind boggling.  
If you plot human population out on a proper line graph you get a gentle slope (increase) over thousands of years, until civilization shifts  into the Industrial Revolution. After that, the line takes a steep angle upward in what is described as a population ‘Spike’. Since people first started collecting data and plotting graphs, it has been accepted universally that the spike itself is unsustainable. One way or another there will be a significant correction (die off) that reduces the species to a sustainable number with the possibility of extinction. We have been caught up in a population spike for the past 250 years, brought on largely by our own collective ignorance and tunnel vision greed. The ‘Crash’ can come in the form of a cataclysmic catastrophe, pandemic, meteor strike, etc. or take several/many generations. When breeding adults become scattered or so few they can’t find each other the writing is on the wall. The process is arbitrary, does not recognize the Gregorian calendar or a human lifespan; no one in charge and the numbers do not play favorites. 
So why am I detailing such an obvious flaw in the human psyche? For one thing, people do not behave the same way in large groups like nationality, (kill the stranger) as they might  in small, familial groups (feed the stranger and see what we can learn). Immersed in a large, cultural construct it is nearly impossible to resist the tide of conformance. Being different is asking for trouble and people generally act accordingly. 
There is a great line from a movie (I’ve forgotten its name) where the Director of the CIA is being chastised by his superior for an unforgivable blunder. He says, “You’ve been given a Maserati (an expensive, high performance car) and you treated it like a lawnmower.” It was a warning if not a threat; if you can’t fix the problem it will come back on you. I make the obvious corollary; “We’ve evolved a wonderful mind but we treat it like a penis, play with it like a toy and think ourselves great thinkers and problem solvers when we pee downwind. For hundreds if not thousands of years, civilization has burned the candle at both ends, breaking natural rules in a quest for more material wealth and more power than we need. Dr. Robert Sapolsky (Stanford Univ.) neurologist and primatologist observed: “Male baboons are extremely violent in defense of their harems and territory and likewise in acquiring additional females and expanding their domain.” Then he adds, “The most common cause of death among male baboons is male baboons.” I get it. 
I love this self awareness and creative, problem solving nature with its language and collaboration. But they come with the warning; don’t treat it like a lawnmower. Not from a movie, rather an observation on human nature; Two passengers in an airplane flying over a wilderness. One, the smartest man alive and the other an illiterate laborer. The pilot has them secure seat belts, engine trouble, may have to ditch. The smartest person in the world asks, “Are there any parachutes?” The pilot tells him “Yes, there is one in the gear locker back by the door.” The smartest man on earth is not about to take a chance with the laborer who surely must be thinking the same thing and runs back to the locker, puts on the parachute and jumps out. The pilot feels the plane respond to the open door and wants to know what is going on. The illiterate guy answers; “The smartest guy on earth just jumped out with my backpack full of dirty laundry.” People, even me, we think that we think and it's a powerful feeling. I hate to admit, but I suspect that having the 'think we think' suspicion gives me an edge. But I have no idea what to do with it. 
I’m afraid the Barons of Business and Lords of Government all qualify as the smartest guys onboard with their contingency plans stowed away in a locker near the exit and we (the masses) we pick one of them to follow, like sheep, nose to butt with the next sheep in line. Most sheeple believe in a mysterious, supernatural, omnipotent, omniscient, angry, loving, self righteous god who punishes and rewards people as he sees fit. I was raised to believe that myth but it didn’t take. I’m lucky to be out from under that yoke. I enjoy the benefits that I have been afforded and both the affection and loyalty of friends and family. I’m not trying to make the world a better place or take more than my share, just treat people the way I want to be treated and also treat my lawnmower like the marvelous vehicle that it is. At the bottom of it all, I just don’t want to be lumped in accidentally with ultra-ego-inteligencia who see no downside from spending my grandchildren’s future for a profitable bump in the GDP. 

WITH A LITTLE LUCK

My Grandpa lived with us, with a few intermittent gaps, from about 1947 to his passing in 1961. In my lifetime he worked at Union Station (Railroad) In Kansas City, moving baggage carts to and from the trains. Roy A. Porter was neither a good husband nor a good father. My mother was next to oldest with five brothers. Her mother was a frail, sickly woman who required at least as much nurture as she was able to provide and my mom filled two roles, big sister and surrogate mother. In the 1920’s, Roy left his family for long periods on sketchy schemes that never panned out. The money he was supposed to send home never met their need and they survived on charity. 
My parents courted for a year before they married in 1930. Roy refused his permission and threatened my dad. Mom was savvy to his bad behavior all of her life and called his bluff. She told him if he would not sign for her to marry that she didn’t need his permission to get pregnant and he could add another mouth to feed at their table. My grandpa lost that battle and signed the paper. That netted a thin, troubled truce between may dad and the old rounder. Grandma Lottie died in her sleep in early ’46. By the fall of ’47 Roy couldn’t maintain a residence by himself and couldn’t draw social security yet. My mom Dorothy negotiated a deal with him to a live with us, all of it on her terms. He didn’t like being outranked by his daughter and her husband who never liked him to begin with. He had always been able to have his way but not any more and his pride was bruised beyond repair. It was either our back, upstairs bedroom or live in his car. 
I was 9 at the time. My brothers were 12 and 3, neither particularly interested in Grandpa but the two of us  grew a different kind of kinship. Mom called him ‘Papa’ but my dad wasn’t about to call him anything that familial. He just called him by his name, Roy. We learned early on that the old man liked be recognized in the morning; “Good morning Grandpa.” to which he would reply in kind. One day I greeted him with, “Good morning Roy.” He was taken aback, paused and replied, “Good morning Bub.” and went on about his business. His rank in that house was #3 and I don’t think he wanted to make waves but he needed to save face, even with a 9-year old. From then on I called him by name, Roy and he called me Bub; as if it were an insult but time has a way of softening insults. If any of us other than my dad tried to call him Roy he would correct them, with an implied “and don’t forget it.” My bothers and cousins wanted to know why I got to call him Roy but their interest waned and it became the norm. One way or another, between the two of us, I had risen to his rank or he had dropped to mine. I paid attention to him, found it entertaining and educational as well to ask him provocative questions like where he got his calendar with a naked lady for every month and then punctuate my leverage with, “I like February best.” We talked about planting trees and bird poop on his windshield; I never was his equal but certainly enjoyed privilege and tolerance that we kept between us. In a few years we had enough dirt on each other to explode the family. We both felt safe indulging in unauthorized activity, knowing neither would not betray the other. When I went too far teasing or taking liberties that even I couldn’t get away with, I let him catch me and give me swats which was absolutely against my mother’s rules. I knew where he kept his booze and ‘Girlie’ magazines which were not supposed to be on the property either. We manifest our own brand of (Honor among thieves).
I asked him about his alcohol consumption and sex and he would put me off. I kept on with the questions until he gave up, gave me something he thought I would believe and we kept each other’s secrets. He had women friends come to our house with him sometimes, just to prove he had a family and a roof over his head. I asked him if he used ‘rubbers’ and he would fake anger but his growling and disapproval was mostly camouflaged laughter. For a decade we were like spies in our own house. In the Army I was home on leave before shipping out for Okinawa in 1960, found him with two of my uncles, drinking wine. I asked if he had been getting any and he shot straight back with his own question. “How ‘bout you, you been getting any?” I told him I was, so much that I had to start taking naps in the afternoon. He laughed and slapped his leg, offered me the bottle. That was the last time I saw him alive. He failed at everything that called for taking care of family but he appreciated having a #4 who he outranked. Beyond that we had bent and broken rules, unforgivable as it was, we didn’t care. 
In 1961 he was in the hospital recovering from a heart attack when he had several more, one after another and at 75 his body gave up. I am anticipating my 85th birthday this summer and wonder how Roy would have navigated the 1960’s, another decade with its hippie culture, free love and smoking weed. I was an adrenaline junkie and never took comfort in the hippie experience. I didn’t approve but then neither did I judge. I was too busy with my own business. Here I am remembering my grandpa and the lessons I learned in his shadow. They say that as long as someone remembers your name and your smile, part of you remains. DNA is in there as well but we tend to value the conscious, memory link. I’m just feeling a little nostalgic. Whatever one’s place in time you want it to fit, and with luck to feel good. 

GRAVITY STILL WORKS

  I have a sizable list of heroes who I look up to as role models. Some I know or have known personally while others stand out for their contributions to the greater good. E.O. Wilson (1929-2021) is positioned near the top of that list. A world class authority (Harvard Univ.) on insects and ants in particular, discovered pheromones, he conceptualized and developed the theory of Sociobiology which is no longer a theory but universally recognized. In short, many animals live together in community within a social construct where each individual has a role to fill and a programmed pattern of behavior to perform, much like mating, migrating, nurturing young, defending against predators, etc. 
He noticed how large numbers (thousands) of ants cooperate with highly specialized behaviors (collecting food, waging war, building tunnels, etc.) and switch as a group from one role to another with ease: Sociobiology. Most mammals live within a social construct but nothing like the organization and uniform attention to a single purpose as with ants, bees, etc. Wilson identified those coordinated, large numbers-single purpose species as, Supersocial. He discovered over a dozen Supersocial species, all insects or closely related, wannabe insects. To be Supersocial, individuals in the pod or hive or colony could not venture off and join another group or start a new one of their own. It’s not in their DNA, they will die if they get separated even if they have food, etc. Neither could they adapt to changing environment by modifying their behavior. But they were extraordinary when it came to working in sync with each other. The Supersocial colony survives or dies as a group, doing what they’ve always done, the same way that they’ve always done it.
This is turning into a biology lesson and I don’t want that. So I will cut straight to the chase. Humans are now the only non insect species to be considered Supersocial. We have large, complex brains and insects don’t. We can think about things and ideas but we don’t believe insects can think at all.  But we share the critical traits, we also cooperate in large numbers for common cause but we can adapt, change the rules, invent new behaviors, shift from one task to another with ease. We can improvise and teach a stranger the new way. Several species are creative problem solvers but don’t do well in large numbers (primates). Others work together in mass but can’t adapt their behavior to meet a changing set of circumstances (wildebeest). What makes humans special is that we are the only species that can do both. Chimps can make and use tools and teach others as long as they are in small groups. But if you get too many chimps together (let’s say 40 +) their intelligent behavior breaks down into chaos and most likely violence. 
Humans on the other hand cooperate with total strangers in large numbers, by the hundreds if not thousands. In combat, armies move in carefully planned, sequentially timed maneuvers with precision until someone notices a problem, then individuals may swap responsibilities or go left instead of right without asking first and it works, or the leader may change the strategy from ‘Attack’ to ‘Retreat’ and everybody gets it. 
People are uniquely skilled at adapting to changing conditions and circumstances. But two people cannot go off on their own and create a new community. A couple or even 3 cannot meet the diverse and extreme need for getting food & water, providing shelter, safety and protection. Human children require several years of constant nurture and food before they can contribute to the group At the same time the nutritional demand (calories) on the parents is compounded with the mother needing twice the normal nutritional requirement with much less time and ability to meet even her own need. There is a number, depending on the environment and risks involved and whatever that number is, it is more than a few. People need to live in community in order to survive, replicate, reproduce successfully and maintain a sustainable population. We are Supersocial. We need each other. It is my nature to ask “Why?” and “How does that work?” But like the blind leading the blind, no one is in charge, there’s nobody at the wheel. Gravity still works and the big dogs eat first.
I want to know better how things work, a better understanding of human behavior. Why; after so many thousands of years of hunter gatherer culture and roughly six or seven thousand years of civilization, why is our species stuck in the same repeating pattern of self defeating behaviors and unnecessary violence? In contrast, our toys and tools have moved right along, keep evolving into better, more effective instruments for meeting a need. How does that work? Pure, hard core naturalists would rationalize; we sacrifice the many in order for the most fit to prevail and replicate the next strong, fit generation. That’s how it works with plants, why not with people? I understand how that can work but humans want not only to prevail but also to be happy, make everybody happy, and the species has failed on that task. I have an idea but not a plan, and it may be all wrong but still, it leans on logic, it is defensible and I cannot just give it over to a religious mythology and play Let’s Pretend.

I CAME IN FROM THE WILDERNESS

 'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm.

Religion is not (say again) is not where I would look for meaning and purpose but Dylan (Bob) seems to with Shelter From The Storm. He famously carves out lyrics that speak to us between the lines as profoundly as within the text. Isaiah was an Old Testament prophet from roughly 720 BCE who warned the nation Israel that God was going to punish them for their wickedness. Israel wasn’t the only nation that was on God’s sh*t list but evidently he had higher expectations for them that he did the Babylonians, etc. Dylan’s (toil & blood, blackness a virtue) said as much to me and shelter from the storm would have been wishful thinking. I don’t known why but the song reminds me of Isaiah’s dismal prophesy but it does. In it he (Dylan) holds out a shred of hope for a safe place to take refuge. 
Last night I dreamt an awful dream. Figuratively, the wrath of God was coming back around and I felt ‘void of form’ much like Isaiah must have in his dark days when Israel was misbehaving. In the year 2024 CE the world is a wicked place again. Israel is misbehaving again and the rest of the world is full of self righteous, evil, greedy people who justify lust by calling it Liberty. I take some comfort in the otherwise foreboding grip of old age; at least I got a good, long ride before God pulls the plug on our wickedness. Maybe I’ll succumb literally and miss the fall altogether. Now that’s a pretty grim dream. But trying to fill in the blanks with Dylan is like herding cats, you talk ‘smack’ and whatever the cats do will pass for obedience. I don’t put much stock in dreams; the subconscious is free to make up stories and sometimes it plays the ‘Herding cats' game.

MAYBE, JUST MAYBE

I don’t know how to begin. For me to weigh in on controversial issues seems too little, too late and who really cares what I think anyway. True, I write for my own benefit but I’ve gnawed on those issues for long enough I don’t need my own Cliffs Notes study guide. But sometimes, and this is as much about being old, approaching decline and I think all old people have to react to the impulse; sometimes you think maybe, just maybe, when I’m not around to speak for myself someone will wonder, “I wonder what old So-&-So would have said or done or thought about (whatever it might be).

It is going on two weeks since the shooting at the Super Bowl celebration in Kansas City. The rest of the world has moved on but it’s still in the news here, fueling a new out cry over gun control measures, or the lack there of. For the record, I own both long guns and hand guns and I keep them locked in a vault designed specifically for that purpose. Once upon a time I was a hunter but I don’t hunt anymore. I still have my fire arms largely to keep them out of circulation, haven’t fired one in over 40 years. But I understand from experience how guns can find their way into the hands of irresponsible folks and others who would wage violence.  

I trust my judgement, that I understand and appreciate the lure and the appeal that fire arms provide their owners. In my youth (U.S.Army) I qualified on the range with both 30 cal. rifle and 45 cal. hand guns. Several times as conditions required, we went back to the range and refreshed the firearms skillset. I never had difficulty hitting the target but I’ve never pointed a  loaded weapon at anybody; the very thought is disturbing if not repulsive. It’s not like riding a bicycle. If you want to carry a weapon it is crucial that you practice often. The consequence of diminished skill or lax rules of engagement is literally the difference between someone’s life and death.

Of 23 victims at the Super Bowl celebration there was only one fatality and I suppose we should be thankful there weren’t more but that callous reaction (being thankful) is symptomatic of the sick culture we take for granted. Shortly after gun powder and fire arms were invented (@ 1000 years ago) their design and primary purpose were focused on killing animals & people. Civilization has moved on but the design and purpose of firearms has not. Sometimes people us cars as weapons agains people (road rage, suicide, etc.) Even though cars have never been designed to do violence, it happens. Still, to operate a motor vehicle in this country you need to pass a test, have a license and carry liability insurance. Carrying a gun is a right that shooters wear like a crown while driving a car is a privilege to begin with. I mean really; do you need someone to explain the absurdity there in?

Regulations for the possession and discharge of guns have gradually eroded away in the pretense of Liberty. Government needs to know there are armed citizens who can hold them accountable (fight back). So when the smoke clears and the courts close the books on gun control, anybody, and that means anybody who wants a hand gun or a military, semiautomatic assault rifle can have one. All it takes is some money and knowing someone who knows someone who will sell it to you no questions asked, out of their house or the trunk of their car. The real insult is that the legal system does not enforce existing laws intended to keep guns out of wrong hands until after the shooting. After the fact, the courts punish shooters. The sick culture I spoke of is set on punishing shooters and literally ignores prevention. Sadly, there is no viable process to affordably, effectively curing a sick culture.

I will not labor through all of the reason and logic that would explain and debunk the rhetoric used by radical gun proponents. We all understand the analogy that likens the gun to a man’s penis: with a gun in hand one’s penis doubles in size. Men generally reject the comparison but what would you expect? We all understand (except for the Supreme Court) that firearm’s niche in the now culture does not equate to George Washington bearing arms or the need for deadly force in self defense today. I’m not interested in taking guns away from legitimate gun owners but when a 17 year-old can carry an assault rifle openly, along side of police officers at a demonstration, fire on (killing) two demonstrators (Kyle Rittenhouse, May, 2021, Kenosha, Wisconsin) and walk away free and clear, then this nation has crossed the line and become a 3rd world clusterf##k: translated (disastrously mishandled situation). In this country, in 2023 over 40,000 people were killed by guns. I would think a culture that holds human life to be sacred would squirm with that in mind.

Missouri’s governor simply extended his thoughts and prayers to the victims of the Super Bowl shootings and affirmed the need to punish criminals, thugs who spoiled the day. Thoughts and prayers are no more than piss in the wind, an inert dismissal, change the subject and move on. Punishment is a lot cheaper and more easily measured out than addressing cause but that moral failure is nothing new. Whatever else they may be, firearms are instruments of death by design and function and means of protection by partisan whim. The perceived need for protection is caused by the unchecked availability of more guns. As Pogo famously observed, “We have met the enemy and he is us.” I thought of an analogy for the situation. It is a long stretch but the corollary is profound. It goes; trees and being cut down against the law so everyone tries to think of a way to save trees and they come up with the perfect solution - more chainsaws. I’m afraid we will keep on keeping on, getting what we’ve already got. My opinion is irrelevant, an old man’s take on people killing people. So someday, who knows when; when the last bullet kills another innocent bystander, Frank has already taken sides and been written off as an old fool.