Wednesday, June 15, 2016

White noise. Black dog.

The loudest thing this morning in the office is the assertive whoosh of the white-noise machines implanted in the ceilings. 

There are a few other people here, writers, drinking their coffee, doing their work, or just, in generally, getting ready for whatever it is they have to do.

I've been staring at this space for a good 30 minutes now. My Puerto Rican coffee is one-inch from the bottom, but still, I've found nothing to write.

Maybe we need to take a break from this--there's a lot going on at work. Or maybe the spectre of a Trump Presidency has been feeling too afraid and too angry. Not to mention the fact that a man questioned twice by the FBI can buy a rifle--with no waiting period--that can fire 700 bullets in a minute.

The AR-15 is the consumer version of the military's lethal M-16. But no one knows that. No one reports on that. And after a mass-shooting, gun sales soar. Somehow more than half of our Congress believes that the right to a rifle that can shoot 700 bullets a minute with virtually no recoil is god-given and inalienable.

No wonder I'm stymied.

Frankly, the world is too much with me. 

I wish the white noise were louder; I wish it were everywhere and could block everything out.

Can you turn it up please? 

Can you make it all go away?


No one's listening.

No comments: