Those who claim righteousness within their angst and apathy continue to Columbine themselves from the meekest of places. The tragedy at Dawson College in Montreal is indicative of the meeklessness of remotest possibilities. Closets don't seem to mean anything, anymore. Canada, Aruba, squeaky suburbia, the list goes on...and so does the work of the knife that spreads the immediate pain and its perpetual memories with torturous ease. Is Orwellian dis-ease the lone resort for catching up to the Columbines of the future?
I prefer skin and bones. Respect is long overdue for mothers and fathers and other caregivers, and the reminder that their work is not only valid, but our sustenance. I am not saying that it takes a village. It doesn't have to. It takes respect for its developing builders. As for the worthy parents with a disaster for a child, that Orwellian extension could deem the disaster a specimen of inhuman guards, kindling the Columbine flame.
Freedom of speech, entitlement of the whim under cloak, could it all entail a measure of evolution to survive on its originally intended merits? Evolution, you say? Who's got that kind of time? We might try forcing doors open. Don't let this grass grow. Turn on the light while the film is being developed. Sure, they'll curse at you. Now you've got their attention. And they have yours. Let's ask why. Why now? Why at all? Just keep asking why. Without any other weapon, there is the word.