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Tag Archives: nescience

The Power of Naming

27 Sunday Aug 2017

Posted by Khali in Journal, Things I've Learned

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depression, dysthymia, little black raincloud, nescience, the black dog

9girl_on_the_beach_in_frameNaming is a prominent theme in our religions, our mythology and our legends – to name something is to have power over it. It removes the thing from the unknown, makes it familiar and therefore manageable. I feel that the scene in the Bible here Adam is given the task of naming the animals in order to have dominion over them is an prime example of this.

The unknown is the largest human fear there is, which is why naming holds so much power. Without an identity you don’t know how to handle it. Without a name it’s part of that terrifying blackness, or blankness that haunts us – the moment after death, the bogeyman in the night.

But once a thing has a name it becomes something else. It has edges, definition and with those comes all the information that others have gathered over the years.

Which is why a chance encounter with a single word was such a relief to me: dysthymia. For years I just figured I’d been affected by things that had happened to me, that I was permanently – not broken, but damaged. It didn’t occur to me that I had a form of depression, because I could still get out of bed in the morning and go to work and interact with other human beings in the fairly normal, if limited way of an empath. But reading the article I stumbled across online entitled “high-functioning depression” made a light come on in my brain. I wasn’t alone, and the black dog that sometimes sits on my chest making it hard to breathe, or think, also visits other people.

I’d purposely avoided reading about depression because the literature I’d seen up until that moment had focused on major depression and suicide prevention. I didn’t think about leaving this world in dramatic ways or that everyone else would be better off without me. Depression in that frame didn’t apply to me. I wasn’t there, I just felt low, worthless, anxious to the point that sleep eluded me. I gained weight. I stopped writing; something I truly enjoy. I spun in little circles trying to chase the black dog off. Some days I felt like I succeeded. Sometimes that feeling would last for weeks so how could I be depressed?

For a while I thought it was just my backwater job, or the weight of student debt, the general anxiety that has dogged me since childhood, or some external force that weighed me down. And they did, certainly, but the fact that I can tackle my feelings as ‘depression’ is a relief. I’m not a pretender to the term – if you know what I mean. It’s not a capital D depression, but no less legitimate for its form because now it has a name. The more reading I do, the more talking I do, the better handle on it I get. Some days are still better than others, but having that one piece, that name, makes such a difference.

So if you feel that something isn’t right, I encourage you to keep going, keep reading, there’s a name out there to give you power over the dark.

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Why we still need to call it feminism

19 Saturday Mar 2016

Posted by Khali in Feminism

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

asshattery, equality, Feminism, feminist, nescience

ellen page quote justaswildIt’s a personal pet peeve of mine when someone says that they’re not a feminist, but insist that they are ‘humanist’ or ‘equalist’. Why? because by being either of those things, they’re actually feminists. They just don’t understand the term or equate it with man-hating, bra-burning and the like. So I tend to share this video repeatedly because “hating men” is not what feminists do. Feminists speak up against violence, objectification and marginalization of a particular group, if not all groups of people. The fact that the focus is on one group that spans ethnicity, religion and geography just influences the term, not the goal. The fact that it’s one privileged group (you know which group that is without even thinking about it, don’t you?) that consistently comes under fire for perpetuating violence and mistreatment does not make it a man hating project.

And for those who insist “not all men” buy into sexism, I tend to think they feel guilty on some level because they know, somewhere that they have objectified a woman, or all women at some point. Instead of insisting that they’re not part of the problem, they should focus on being part of the solution by advocating for their female brethren (or gay, transgender, etc etc…). Problem solved. (It’s hard to advocate against certain behaviours without speaking in terms of groups. We can’t spend half the time saying, “this guy, that guy and that person over there in particular, but you, you’re fine”. Deal with it already and stop being so sensitive about it.)

JGL-feminismAnd I will point out, again, that feminism works for men too, because they are programmed to do the objectification in the first place and it often takes a conscious effort to change the habit. I mean it’s part of the very language we speak. (Oh, grow a pair! Don’t be such a pussy! You run like a girl! Oh wow!) Only by working together can we erase the need to call the idea of equality ‘feminism’ and move on to tackle the next great disparity.

So. As long as a boy feels pressured to ‘act like a man’ we will need feminism. As long as there are college boys who think it’s OK to film themselves raping an unconscious girl in their dorm room and then post the images online, we will need feminism. As long as a group of men can get away with raping and killing a woman on a public bus in India, we will need feminism. As long as girls who haven’t even reached puberty are married off to men old enough to be their grandfathers, we will need feminism. As long as women’s genitals are mutilated in the name of ‘purity’ (I dare you to read the entire entry and not shudder) we will still need feminism.

Equality starts at home, so don’t be afraid of calling yourself a feminist if you feel the disparity between people anywhere.

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An Open Letter to my step-daughters

21 Thursday May 2015

Posted by Khali in Journal

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everything is complicated, evil stepmother, family madness, flying lessons, growing pains, kids, learning curve, mama troll, nescience, self esteem, step parenthood, us girls have got to stick together

green026Let me start off by first saying that being a step-mother is a strange position to be in, especially when said step children do not always live with you. You are in a position of authority merely by your adult-ness, but at the same time, you have no real authority: you can ask the teenager to refrain from doing things, but you have no recourse in terms of punishment – unless you are fortunate enough to be backed by the biological parents – who may or may not be on civil terms.

Having a step-parent in your life is no less strange, I’m sure. My mother had decided that she’d spare me that kind of strange and carried on without a partner – which on several levels I appreciate. One, because she demonstrated that she did not NEED a partner to raise me well, or even to feel accomplished or whole. And secondly, because I was spared the stream of “uncles” or the bizarreness of having a stranger try and tell me what to do, or tell my mother how she should raise me.

So trust me, I know how weird it is for you. Just trust that it’s just as weird for me. Because it’s weird I’ve tried to be more a friend than a parent – which also has it’s perils since I’m only on your “side” in a manner you don’t truly understand. It’s going to feel like a betrayal when you tell me things you don’t want your father to know and I tell him anyway because I feel you’re in danger. That’s only happened once or twice, but both times I was in the right and things turned out better than they might have.

But that’s not why I’m writing this letter.

I’m writing this because I know how hard it is to be a teenager or a young adult- and I know that you think that’s a lie, or that it’s totally different now than it was when I was a teenager. Some of that might be true, but the feelings aren’t. Technically you are an adult, but no one treats you like one and that’s frustrating. But we know you’re not ready for adulthood because we know how unprepared we were in spite of our cocky assurances otherwise. Part of us wants you to stay a kid while you still can, and the rest wishes we could impart some of our hard-earned wisdom so that you won’t have to make the same mistakes we did.

I see you girls thrashing around in the deep waters of adulthood and I have to hold still while you learn to swim rather than jumping in and rescuing you because that is the only way you will learn to do things for yourself. The only way you will learn how strong you really are. Because you are strong. You are intelligent and capable.

There are a few things I wish I could tell you. Or rather there are a few things I’ve told you that I wish you’d take to heart. Perhaps these are things that you will think of later and think “Ah, that’s what she meant.”

1) You are already whole. Do not expect someone else to fill in your spaces. This is  disservice to both of you and will only end in tears or misery.

2) You are only responsible for your actions and reactions – no one else’s.

3) a few good friends are far better than many acquaintances. If you are dependable and kind, you will attract the same kind of people. Just know where your boundaries are and don’t let anyone disrespect them. Those who continually do this, are not your friends.

4 Your beauty is not who you are. It is an expression of, but don’t reduce yourself to your appearance. You are so much more clever, and talented to be that.

5) People are jerks. This doesn’t mean their opinion should matter to you. It’s not really any of your business anyway and if people are jerks, cut them out of your life. You have enough to deal with already.

6) Last but not least: true love is unconditional. Your dad and I will love you no matter what happens. We may not always approve of your choices, but that doesn’t change this one simple fact. Ever.

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Education and arguments: BC and the ongoing strike

06 Saturday Sep 2014

Posted by Khali in Journal

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argh, British Columbia Teachers' Federation, economy, education, facepalm, first world problems, holy balls batman, human nature, kids, learning curve, nescience, people scare me, politics, rant, Teacher, things that make me angry, things that make you go hrm, voting

9yes_it_isI am the first to admit that I have an imperfect understanding of the world and this is one reason I read so much. I have a voracious appetite for learning – as is evidenced by my bookshelf, my bookmark list on Firefox and my brain full of random facts. (I have a bookmark list and search history typical of a writer, I fear – everything from mythology and history to how to build a bomb from household items and how long it takes a body to decompose in given conditions. I can only imagine my name’s on some list somewhere.)

So I know and understand many things, but one thing I’m still working on is how human beings work in groups. Specifically, as a country, or state or province. It seems like when there are too many people in a given group that ‘the common good’ becomes a matter of debate to the point where no one an agree on anything. At some point there comes a division into ‘us’ and ‘them’.

You see, I’ve been thinking about this ongoing teacher strike here in BC. To me, it’s barbaric. We are cheating our most valuable resource of the one thing they need to be truly valuable as an asset to their society/community/civilization: an education. Granted at this point it’s only a few weeks of actual school time that they have denied the students, but they have marred preparation time for our teachers, which is just as detrimental, if not more so. Our teachers are not respected as teachers. It’s like they’re just the dispensers of curriculum or coaches for standardized tests and that also is kind of gross. (It used to be that teachers were often religious people who devoted their entire lives to learning and in light of the fact that young people can teach now may have some psychological bearing on this attitude, but that may be another rant.)

I took some education classes in University. I had full intentions of being a teacher – for about a year. What I learned in that year made me so angry and frustrated that I decided instead to become a tutor and/or a librarian. I have not met the library goal yet, (if ever) but the tutoring – while not consistent or full time, has been an interesting learning experience. What made me angry was that everything was geared towards fitting all the pegs – be they square, rectangular or star shaped – into uniform round holes. In one class a teacher spoke of ‘diversity’ in the classroom as a challenge, rather than an asset. Of course he was speaking about those who learned at a slower pace and how the system was no longer allowed to hold students back a year because of the ‘psychological damage’ that would cause. He did not take kindly to my argument that there would be more psychological damage if said child always felt like they were behind when they got pushed forward – especially if they were unable to access extra help – the way I felt in math class, say. I managed to pull a passing grade every year, but I never grasped the concepts to the point of confidence and I cannot imagine what that would feel like to be that way with everything. I felt that was a failure in the system and spent that evening in angry tears. I spoke to other professors about the situation and even though they agreed with me, they didn’t seem to think here was a need to go above and beyond when the system seemed to produce enough competent people for the general well being of the work force. The only ones who agreed with me were teachers I’d had in High School – the ones who had gone above and beyond the demands of curriculum even at their own expense: spending their own money to provide resources an field trips to better educate their students.

When we have a huge number of people to service; be it in education, health care or social assistance – whatever aspect of group welfare or dynamics you care to name – a bare minimum needs to be established so that all our most basic needs are met. Sounds good in theory, doesn’t it? Not so much. There will always be someone who doesn’t fit into that category. Someone who requires a little bit more, or a little bit less – be it attention, help, or resources and it throws off the efficiency – and the cost – of the system.

This is where capitalism fails us. In Canada, it seems like we’re not so bad off as our southern neighbours, but I can see how money drives our economy and therefore our social programs. The government doesn’t want to spend money on education because there are other things they’d rather spend money on; it seems their own wages and/or oil pipelines and lately the military. Yes, money makes the world go ’round, but educated people are the ones who make the money go ’round. Us, or them. You see where I am going with this?

Human beings are basically selfish and it’s hard to focus on the good of the community as a whole when you don’t have a personal interest in it. That seems to be human nature in a nutshell and this also seems to be the root of a lot of issues. (This is why some people don’t vote either – they just don’t see how the ‘other’ – that being the government – affects them. This is a deficiency in our education system perhaps, or one in our value system. Perhaps both.) The bottom line is, each person is only on this earth for a shot period of time: this is an argument both for and against being selfish. If you’re only here so long then why not live it for yourself? But on the other hand, if you’re only here so long, why not make the world that much better for those who come after?

We want our community to thrive. (I was going to write profit – you can see how capitalist language sneaks in here!) In order for it to do so we need people to live in it and contribute to it. Uneducated people are vulnerable even if they do have ‘street smarts’ because they do not have the tools to further their careers beyond a certain point. The more people our education system fails means that many more people are not contributing their significant power to the growth of our economy and are merely subsisting within it. This may seem a little elitist at first, but I’m not saying that all uneducated people end up on welfare (though some do). What I’m saying is that when the system fails a person, that person then fails the system because they haven’t got the leg up the system was supposed to give them in the first place. Options become limited and that is precisely what they are not supposed to be in what we deem to be a first world country.

Let’s have a look at Sweden. Sweden has been in the news lately for any number of things: progressive views in gender politics, exceptional environmental policies and recently education reform. Their students are outperforming students from around the world on a (yes, standardized) test after reforms that seem to value the diversity of students. What gets me most though, is that they really do value their teachers. Sweden has decided that children are their greatest resource. In Japan they also seem to have this idea, but have taken another path than Sweden; starting children in school earlier and keeping them longer hours – so much so that stress related illnesses among students is common. There doesn’t seem to be, yet, a perfect solution, but I think it’s time we looked at our system in BC and gave it a good overhaul – or at least kicked the policy-makers into giving the funding required to make an overhaul possible.

Ideally, education should be a federal issue. All teachers should be paid fairly and given enough resources to educate all our children from the age of 5 to 18 and even beyond (how I’d love post secondary education to be provided a la Sweden or other countries…). This is all well and good, and yes I believe a minimum standard is a necessary evil for the simple fact that we human beings require order to thrive, but what if we broke it down? What if each community was responsible for the education of it’s children? I said before that one problem was that there were too many people with different agendas clashing over this issue. What if it was merely a concern of each municipality? I don’t know enough about how the money would work, but I imagine that if it were the responsibility of a community, where you knew the people and were invested in the outcomes, that you’d be more willing to contribute to a solution. It would be personal and people respond better when a situation has a personal impact because no one is completely altruistic – they can’t really afford to be in all honesty. Perhaps I’m altruistic and naive, but I’m not entirely wrong either, am I?

I don’t have children yet, but I for one am willing to put my money into an education system rather than an oil pipeline. My tax dollars are spent how the government decides, but we as a people decide on our government. Perhaps we also need an overhaul on how we choose our government, or how much actual say we get on all these sociopolitical reforms and debacles. We need either more input from ‘we the people’ or smaller self-governing communities to help eliminate this ‘us’ and ‘them’ dichotomy.

In the short term I just want the BC government and teachers to all to get their heads out of their asses and focus on the real issue at hand here: educating our children. I doubt the teacher demands are all that unreasonable(in fact I know it) and I am certain there is no reason for either side to treat the other with anything but respect (which they haven’t been as evidenced by the mediator walking out) or for our government to lie about it’s intentions (which it may well have done.) I suppose it will all come out in the wash eventually, I just wish it didn’t have to do so at the expense of our kids.

I’m just thinking out loud here, feel free to weigh in.

Listening to: Deadmau5 – Ghosts ‘n’ Stuff
Reading: Confucius – Analects
Drinking: Raspberry Iced Tea
Feeling: thoughtful

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Things I’ve Learned # 8

26 Sunday Jan 2014

Posted by Khali in Things I've Learned

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darkness, M, nescience, things I've learned

thanx_to_uSometimes ignorance really is bliss. There are things that we really are happier not knowing because yes, there are monsters in this world and we all hope that we never encounter them.

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Visiting Wilkinson (2008)

22 Tuesday Jan 2013

Posted by Khali in Journal, Writing

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constitution, creative non-fiction, everything is complicated, heartbreak, learning curve, love, M, nescience, outside one's comfort zone, Wilkinson Prison

9take_my_hand_and_never_leave_it“Obligation may be stretched till it is no better than a brand of slavery stamped on us when we were too young to know its meaning.” ~George Eliot [Mary Ann Evans]

On the bus out to the prison I stared out the window, unable to even listen to my walkman or read like I usually did on this trip. There weren’t very many people on the bus with me, and the air smelled like hot tar as the driver waited for the guy in the orange vest to give him the go-ahead. The bus let me off a little way down the road from the main entrance, so that I had to walk along the stone fence that enclosed the towering building. There were knots in my stomach, which, even though they’d been present for months now, seemed to be especially noticeable today. There were no trees; just a vast expanse of grass surrounded the prison. It looked a little like a castle, with turrets along the top and narrow barred windows. I thought it would make a good setting for a horror novel.

The main entrance was graced with a heavy stone staircase with thick stone balustrades, a wrought-iron gate and a heavy wooden door that had been painted an institutional shade of blue. In the foyer, the floor was dark wood and grooved from the wear of many feet. Benches that looked like reclaimed pews from an old church lined both sides of the room. The walls had been painted a pale hospital green. I suppose it had been meant to be soothing. Display cases broke the green monotony, filled with police memorabilia, newspaper articles and a short history of the prison. There was a desk at the end of the room beside the hall that led towards the visiting room. A metal detector loomed in the entranceway.

At the desk I signed my name on the visitor’s sheet. I’d had to call earlier that day to let them know that I was coming. There was no such thing as a drop-in visit at a prison. Prison. Who would have ever guessed that I’d end up visiting someone in a place like this? Much less that that person was my boyfriend, and someone I thought I knew almost as well as myself.

“Ah, here to visit Mark* eh? His mother came this morning.” I nodded. The guard at the desk was the man I’d come to like. He was an older man with a brush cut and an irrepressible twinkle in his eye, which was a refreshing thing in a place like Wilkinson Prison. I’d been told his name a couple of times now, but in my head I called him Mr. Brush-Cut. I was beyond remembering new names at that point.

“Five minutes before we go in, ok?”

I nodded again and moved to the bank of tiny lockers next to the desk. I put my purse and my jacket inside the tiny space and shut it. I put a quarter in the slot and wrestled the key free. I went to sit with the others on the benches. There was a woman with two young children, an older couple and two young people this time, also an older man who smelled of old beer and tobacco. The children threw themselves around the room with a strange kind of abandon; they were going to see their daddy today. The older couple had been here before. They still looked tired and sad. I’d come to understand that the grey-haired man they were visiting was their son, even through their heavy accents. I stared at my shoes. Even though I was visiting someone here, I still felt very out of place and conspicuous.

“All right folks!” Mr. Brush-Cut said. It was obvious he was used to being in charge. A woman took his post at the desk and another man joined him from a break room as he bent to turn on the metal detector. He set a tray on the counter and proceeded to buckle on his vest as though he were entering a combat zone. I suppose it was one, but a battle zone of emotions rather than weapons.

The older couple went through with no trouble, as did the two excited children. The mother put her watch into the little tray and her anklet and earrings before she passed through the iron-grey arch. The young girl ahead of me took ten minutes. She even had to take out her belly button and eyebrow rings before she was given the ok. I’d already taken off my belt, my watch and my glasses.

The next room was painted a dark burgundy. There was a little hall filled with tiny solo booths complete with telephone receivers for those inmates who’d misbehaved on previous common-room visits, or for lawyer visits. I wasn’t sure which. I didn’t care.

This time there was a dog waiting in the anteroom outside the ‘family’ visiting room. The dog was a German shepherd cross; its chest was too wide across and its colouring too irregular to be a pure breed.

“This is Lucky. He’s our new friend here at Wilkie,” the young blond man in uniform said as he indicated the dog with the leash. “He’s here to make sure that no one’s bringing illegals into the visiting room.” The guard made us line up against the wall and we were to let the dog sniff us one by one.

“Please don’t try to pet Lucky while he’s checking you. If you’d like to do that, he’d appreciate it if you waited until he was finished his job.” The guard undid the leash and gave the dog a command.

“Go Lucky,” he said. The dog bounded to the first person and gave a cursory sniff. The mother had to hold her squirming children’s hands firmly while the mutt sniffed them thoroughly and then passed on to me. Lucky licked my shoe and then carried on. When he’d made it to the end of the line he shook himself and trotted back to his handler. He was rewarded with a milk bone, which he munched in a pleased-with-himself manner.

Our leader spoke into his handset.

“We’re clear,” Mr. Brush-Cut said, and the door to the visiting room was buzzed open from the front desk. I paused to stroke the dog’s silky head and tell him he did a great job. The fur in his head was smooth and soft under my fingers. I followed the others inside.

“Please space yourselves out while you’re looking for a seat,” the younger of the two guards said. Two long tables that faced each other divided the completely white room. A Plexiglas partition ensured that no one in the room would touch. The chairs were bolted to the floor so that there was no way to pick them up and throw them at anyone. I moved to the middle, where I could see the clock. I’d been thinking very hard since I’d been to Mark’s sentencing. This visit was a test for me before he was moved to Matsqui on the mainland, to see if I could keep doing this.

The younger guard seated himself at the little console on the opposite side of the glass and Mr. Brush-Cut, went to the inner door to usher in the inmates. Another buzzer sounded and I could see Mark come into the antechamber. He was buzzed in first every single time. That’s what happens when someone is in protective custody. I didn’t watch the others file in wearing their matching orange jumpsuits. I watched Mark as he sat in the chair and leaned towards me.

“Hi,” he said.

The colour of the jumpsuit did nothing for his already pale complexion. He had what could be called strawberries and cream skin, complete with freckles, which would have been considered adorable on a little girl. Unfortunately, little girls were the reason he was in Wilkinson, and the reason he was in protective custody. He thinning red hair was gelled back in its usual manner and his glasses rested halfway down his nose in what I think he considered was an intelligent-looking fashion. I stared at his long-fingered hands as they curled against the glass. The hands that drew fabulous pictures in coloured pencils. The hands that had given me backrubs when I was sick and held me close at night.

I looked at his hands and felt nothing at all.**

Listening to: Late Night Alumni – Empty Streets
Reading: Ken Follet – The Eye of the Needle
Drinking: Earl Grey
Word Count: nil

**written in 2008

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they were all in love with dyin’

21 Saturday Jul 2012

Posted by Khali in Journal

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Tags

guns, nescience, rant, the second amendment

I have a question. This is not a new question. In fact I’ve been asking this particular one for years, but in light of the recent rash of shootings I’m going to ask it again. What is with the guns?

I do not understand the second amendment of the US constitution: “the right of the people to keep and bear arms.” Forgive me, but perhaps in 1791 it was necessary to have this written into the constitution because there were enough people going around blowing each other to smithereens for land, gold or horses. I’m sorry, but this is not the Wild West anymore boys and girls. Things should probably change. In Canada we merely have the right to safety, both physically and mentally, written into our constitution: “right to life, liberty, and security of the person.” Security of the person. What does that mean? I means we have the right to be safe from physical and mental harm. We don’t need to carry guns to ensure this right.

I do not understand the mindset that says otherwise. It’s one thing to own a gun and use it at a shooting range, or to hunt game. I know people who do this, though I do not. But no one I know goes to Walmart with a pistol at his belt just because he can. Honestly, do you not think that doing so, if it came to it, wouldn’t make you a target? Who is a gunman with a purpose going to shoot first? Short answer: whoever is armed. Shooting an actual person is something completely different than shooting a target, or even that buck you’re going to put in your freezer. There is purpose and little in the way of harmful consequences involved (unless you’re the buck, of course). I have only ever seen or handled one gun, and that was the .22 my first boss had for shooting sheep killers and wild dogs. (This is, of course, not counting the ones I see holstered on the hips of law enforcement.) I don’t have a gun and though I have witnessed a shooting outside one place I lived, I do not feel that a gun is going to change things should I ever have the misfortune to be in that situation again. I’d rather earn myself a black belt and kick some ass rather than rely on a piece of cold steel that a) makes me a target b) is relatively useless unless you’re crack shot or so close you can’t miss and c) is more dangerous to me should I lose hold of it in a struggle.

So the NRA and other gun enthusiasts support the second amendment. They say that people “need a gun to protect themselves.” Please explain this to me!

“If you have a gun, people respect you.” Pardon me, but respect is not the same as fear. In fact I’m more likely to think you’re a weak ass little bitch with power issues if you wave a gun at me. Guns do not solve problems. They do not protect your family. You do. You are the one that earns respect; not by the ownership of a gun; not by the ownership of anything but the ability to give your word and keep it. You protect your family by making sure they live in a safe neighbourhood and teaching your children how to avoid unsafe situations. You solve problems by using your brain, not brandishing, or worse, shooting a gun at someone or something. (In fact if you do shoot something you’re more likely to create more problems…)

So why not register ownership of firearms? Why not make it difficult or ideally, illegal to bear these weapons in public? Think about that word for a moment: weapons. That’s what they are: tools of destruction, by definition an instrument to inflict damage or death.

What kind of world do we live in that people feel they require the right to bear weapons in public?

Edit: It seems that I am not the only one who has an issue with the relevance of the second amendment in this day and age. Please take a moment to have a look at Jason Alexander’s view on the topic.

We will not prevent every tragedy. We cannot stop every maniac. But we certainly have done ourselves no good by allowing these particular weapons to be acquired freely by just about anyone.

Listening to: Butthole Surfers – Pepper
Drinking: Copper Moon Rosé
Reading: Anne Patchett – Bel Canto
Wrote: 3547 words

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Jessy Travels

@jessy_travels

Salt of Portugal

all that is glorious about Portugal

Fat Heffalump

Living with Fattitude

S.D. Gates

Discover

A daily selection of the best content published on WordPress, collected for you by humans who love to read.

Storyshucker

A blog full of humorous and poignant observations.

Thought Catalog

Thought Catalog is a digital youth culture magazine dedicated to your stories and ideas.

Extra Dry Martini

Straight up, with a twist.

List of X

This Blog Is Not Recommended By WordPress

Donalyn Miller

The Tusk

Drunk on truth to stupid baby power.

A Leaf in Springtime

"Be a dew to the soil of the human heart."

A Trick of Light

and the rest is rust and stardust

Travel Far, Travel Fast

One adventure at a time.

MOON IN GEMINI

voices in our heads

musing on the never ending barrage

Tutus And Tiny Hats

I am large, I contain multitudes.

Jim Caffrey Images Photo Blog

photography from the ground up

Dart-Throwing Chimp

Thoughtful analysis or bloviation? Your call.

girls like giants

thinking big: feminism, media, and pop culture

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