Virginia

When I was in highschool, I briefly dated a guy who lived in Vienna, Virginia. He had me come out to visit him, and when I did, he proudly showed me his 22 rifle. Then, he tried to kiss me.

Such is Virginia. Sadly is Virginia. Virginia, now Bereaved.

What happened earlier this week is almost impossible to fathom, despite the prevalence in the media, the endless parade of pictures and video, still shots and interviews, it is just chilling, chilling, still unreal. That this guy was able to plan for so long and for so alone and that he got that far with it. That among us live mentally ill monsters who exist on the periphery, they give us goosebumps and so we bury them into that category of out of sight, out of mind. Until they shoot the door down, and gun their way in. There are not many of them, very few of these monsters, and I truly believe that most of the mentally ill are just sick. As in suffering from a disease.

Of the many disturbing elements of this now dubbed Virginia massacre, was that video, the words being said, there was a scary cadence to it, a rotten poetry, an element of "spoken word," a meter. The bastard child of a twisted imagination. The sick tirade of a dangerous, demented brain.

If I can console myself with anything, it's this: of people that are this deeply mentally disturbed, I do not think there are many out there capable of the planning and thinking necessary to put such a perverse plan like this into motion. Usually, I would hope, in these cases, the mind works in circles, and then trips itself up -- a hamster running too fast in its wheel will eventually fall before it ever reaches its imagined prey.