It feels as though some witch is stirring her cauldron faster and faster with us and the world gyring down to the bottom of that pitch-black potion. Someone has their hand on a wheel and their foot on the pedal, pressing hard.
Look at the case of TJIC who chose to use a common form of satire and with it, loses rather a lot. I'd only recently discovered his blog, now dark, and wonder that he remained in that state of intense discrimination. I never could, never would, live in a place that demanded so much of my earnings and trounced my rights as a kind of pimp slap to get back to work. He notes that he likes it there - and, indeed, it is a lovely place. But it would see the ass end of me in a hurry.
But...perhaps this is it - a kind of tea party, you see, except with casings and primers. They will have to give him back his weapons and his rights. They know it. But they hope to break his bank account first.
A similar incident is here. And then there is this. And I can assure you that those are not even the tip of the totalitarian iceberg. Regular men are fighting these amazing battles - David and Goliath-like - and we just keep on keepin' on. All I can do is throw money at it and hope like hell it helps put out their fires.
Fires...earlier in the week the rabble gathered in an ancient barn in a pasture and managed to set the damned thing on fire. Thank God we'd had rain else the wind would have whipped that thing straight into the houses. The kids pounded on the door - "that ol' house is on fahr!" Off duty, Trooper poked his head out, put down the gun that always answers the door with him and ran that way. I ran to get his portable radio and hiking boots, not knowing what footwear he'd had on at the time, and ran after him.
The locals not only didn't get the name and information of the witnesses who sat in their car waiting, they also didn't file any kind of report. Gee, guys...that disinterested, or did they need that barn burned? I truly don't like to think they're that incompetent but I am afraid that can be the only answer. For which I am trebly glad for the recent rains.
In that conflagration I could sense the coming Troubles. The kids jabbered excitedly, bellowing to each other as the parents stood and watched, a few nods and conversations held quietly. Neighbors who never speak were speaking. It could be a good thing, I thought.
Tonight he's back out there, freezing his ass off and wearing the AlCan hat with pride. I forget, sometimes, in the daily crush just who he is. Who he was. He is not one to talk idly of it all. Nor does he wear it like a shroud, to be picked at daily. He did what had to be done. He lived and he came home. War used to be that way. But now it is full of interested parties whose income relies upon continued action. Once they started farming out portions of the work to private industry I knew it would never end, the need to pick battles.
There are some things that ought not to be profitable - the deaths of fine young men (and women) in battle is one of them.
Christ, this post has gone all lopsided. Blame the hour. Just a lot on my mind these days...do what you can to help the good fight. Sometimes that is all you can do.
"If you wish to do good, but don't know how, find a good man and empower him to do good -- not in your name, but in the name of doing good."