So something a bit surreal happened to me last Monday and I wasn't sure if I wanted to mention it to anybody, though obviously now I think I do.
In the evening I went for a walk around the neighborhood and generally enjoyed stretching my legs after a long day of spending too much time in front of the computer. On the homeward bound stretch, I came across The News in a medium other than word of mouth, newspaper, radio, television or internet. It was in the form of a shrine to a young boy of about twelve who had been stabbed to death by a peer, on that very spot.
About six feet high at the tallest section and about twelve feet long, it is composed of about a hundred small candles, several wreaths, photographs, a football jersey and a plethora of notes on paper and the supporting wall. Classmates, teachers, family and friends had all contributed. I couldn't tell you why but, when I was able to stop looking at it, I counted the steps back to my front door.
One hundred and eighty-six. That's not a lot, really. Try counting that far the next time you stray from your door, to get an idea.
A lot of conflicting thoughts came about from this. But they aren't terribly interesting or novel and that's not really the point of my sharing this - it would be rather self centered if it was. I just think it's improper of me to gloss over this when I'm trying to provide a full glimpse of London, as seen by me. I saw this. It is part of London.
I contemplated taking a photograph of the shrine but kept shying away for fear I'd be turning something terrible into pornography. Tonight, knowing I'd built this up a wee bit in yesterdays entry, I figured "No, no I really should take a picture if I'm serious about giving the full view of this city". So I took my camera and set about those 186 steps.
But when I got close I saw four girls all around twelve or thirteen, looking upset and pacing around the the front of the shrine. Two were crying and that was that, really. I crossed to the other side of the street and walked right past, not wanting to intrude. I overheard a little of one of them talking to the others. "...I guess we could pray..." she said, not sounding entirely sure.
About six feet high at the tallest section and about twelve feet long, it is composed of about a hundred small candles, several wreaths, photographs, a football jersey and a plethora of notes on paper and the supporting wall. Classmates, teachers, family and friends had all contributed. I couldn't tell you why but, when I was able to stop looking at it, I counted the steps back to my front door.
One hundred and eighty-six. That's not a lot, really. Try counting that far the next time you stray from your door, to get an idea.
A lot of conflicting thoughts came about from this. But they aren't terribly interesting or novel and that's not really the point of my sharing this - it would be rather self centered if it was. I just think it's improper of me to gloss over this when I'm trying to provide a full glimpse of London, as seen by me. I saw this. It is part of London.
I contemplated taking a photograph of the shrine but kept shying away for fear I'd be turning something terrible into pornography. Tonight, knowing I'd built this up a wee bit in yesterdays entry, I figured "No, no I really should take a picture if I'm serious about giving the full view of this city". So I took my camera and set about those 186 steps.
But when I got close I saw four girls all around twelve or thirteen, looking upset and pacing around the the front of the shrine. Two were crying and that was that, really. I crossed to the other side of the street and walked right past, not wanting to intrude. I overheard a little of one of them talking to the others. "...I guess we could pray..." she said, not sounding entirely sure.
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Twenty minutes from my cottage is the town of Shawville. I often go there to get groceries and beer when I'm up at my cottage. Just last weekend a man barricaded himself in a building on the main street, not too far from the grocery store, took a hunting rifle and started shooting at police when they arrived. He was shot by the police and remains in critical condition in a hospital.
Now, it was nowhere near to me as your even, but I will agree that it does make you think. Now about what, I think that varies from individual to individual. I had a friend who, after moving to Toronto, desperately wanted to get his hand on a handgun for "protection". I am more amazed, however, at the ability of humanity to edit over unpleasantness. When I was in Hawaii, a woman had her leg torn off by a large tiger shark not more than 30 minutes away from where I was staying and swimming. I thought about it for a day and then forgot about it and promptly spent the rest of my vacation in the water. I'd like to say I'm going somewhere with this, but I don't think I am. Suffice to say, you are right in that it does make you think about the reality of where you are.
Pornographic photos of the tragedy, however, would require some kind of muting or corrupting of the meaning and feeling, like seeing fat Kraut tourists smiling and laughing while getting their pictures taken with the A-Bomb Dome behind them in Hiroshima.
You were a class act, not to intrude, however. Not that that is a surprise.
Yeah, I guess I just felt like no matter how pure my intention...there would still be a sliver of "This will make for some incredible blog material" in the reasoning pie chart behind me taking the picture. The girls being there sealed the deal, but I think I would have once again decided not to take a picture.
I re-wrote this post several times and originally it was going to be three times as long, with a lot of getting into how desensitized we are thanks to the News blasting this kind of thing (and worse) at us every minute of every fucking day. But it just became impossible for me to get into that without running on a thousand tangents which, in the end, all left me feeling like I was using this dead kid's body as a soapbox.
I stopped feeling weird or scared or worried almost immediately after I got home and I think it was that lack of feeling which stuck in my head for the days after.
Numbness is a perfect way of describing it. I'd say its not the paralysis of feelings, but rather the absence of feelings towards the matter.
I don't know if this numbness is even the fault of the news so much as an evolutionary adaptation to deal with the fact that the world Is A Horrible Place. I'm sure there's some interesting literature on the subject somewhere.
Well shamefull thomas I have to disagree or split hairs, your interpretation.
The world itself is not IMHO a Horrible place.
Parts of it maybe but I think its more certain people are Horrible and do Horrible things in this world we live in.
As I travel on my motorcycle around the local countryside I have found a balance to the nasty news we are subjected to. The people I meet and the beautiful
places I see enable me to put some of this into perspective a little.
Maybe one day when i have time I will put some these experiences in a blog for all to enjoy as i do.
In the meantime don't give up on the world us old un's are relying on the next generation to keep things on an even keel.
Fair enough. I should have stated that the world could be a horrible place rather than it was a horrible place. I will certainly agree that there is a lot of beauty in the world.
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