Born like this
Into these carefully mad wars
Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
Into bars where people no longer speak to each other
Into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings
Born into this
Into hospitals which are so expensive that it’s cheaper to die
Into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty
Into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed
Into a place where the masses elevate fools into rich heroes"
— Charles Bukowski
Forty eight years ago today John F. Kennedy was killed by a man with a gun. He was the President of the United States at that time for those of you who are history challenged. His problems were over at that moment and his killer's problems were ended soon after with another bullet. His killer's killer's problems got worse but he didn't make it four years. He died of lung cancer I'm told. Much of that time was spent in court. I wonder if he was so primitive that he still celebrated his killing.
I know exactly where I was that day. Do you? I was in my first year of college at the Northrup institute of Technology in Inglewood, California and at the time the death bullet left the rifle I was learning to program a rudimentary computer the size of a large building with punch cards.
Politics was not my strong suit then and I just barely knew who the President was but it was a strong blow that brought on heavy emotions and changed my life in subtle ways that I have never sorted out. Like the rest of the so called civilized world I grieved for the family. Even though they were very rich they had been touched by something that makes us all equal. Wealth does not make grief better.
Things went on. I had a life to lead with my own family of nearly five years but my thoughts changed and I became more interested in how political things work. I developed a strong dislike of the Dallas Police and they became a synonym for police fuck-ups. I found that a lot of people hated other people so strongly that they celebrated their death even though the death of one changes nothing physically. What it does inside the head of the individual is another thing altogether. I found that I did not hate which at first I thought to be a failing. I found that my aversion to killing was not a bad thing and did not make me a sissy.
I started a dialog with myself that has not yet ended.
(Origin of the image is unknown. If anyone knows please contact me)
They were protest in those days and the brutality of the police was pretty much the same as today because those dirty long haired, pinko, communist, socialist hippies had to be stopped before they corrupted the world, killed if necessary. It's still the same today only now it's the children of the beaten that are doing the beating of the dirty long haired, pinko, communist, socialist hippies.
I still wonder why Nazi uniformed shave head types (sometimes disguised in business suits which is another kind of uniform) that smell of dial soap mixed with sweat always seem to think that peaceful protesters are dirty.