Nothing could have presaged the inevitable, or at least the specific details thereof. While it was all easy to plot on the graph of hindsight and in a general sense it was close to obvious over time.
While all was quiet, my colleagues resisted the thoughts which accompany the tragic and appeared to be a little naked without them. These were the same rotting of the clothes of humanity they were missing and these I have seen so clearly before. Not implicating oneself becomes such an acute goal that the general nature of lessons to be learned only simmer in the subconscious like an acidic pool waiting to be disturbed.
New to me were only the actors appearing in the lack of passion play. My own ambitions had changed so drastically early on in life and I knew the stages of grief by rote. I simply remained in anger diffused by time, anger as a perpetual backdrop to all bureaucratic nonsense designed to make one's upward trajectory swift while plundering the human costs for effect. Like John Lennon sleeping at Yoko's hospital bedside, I now knew the liberating character of briskly challenging authority. I feel around carefully for the unbreakable bars that imprison us in the dark. It is no good fighting every battle, or even unwinnable battles that appear important.
Sometimes the causes were unavoidable but often one could be knowledgeable through past personal experience to see the nastiness that either precipitated the event or lived alongside it lashing at an ever varying pace at those who did not fit standards of approbation.
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