I am the maggPi; googoo kachoo

Below, I have posted a commentary on the recent violence in Connecticut. Please reblog with words of love and support for the families who have suffered such a horrible loss. Hopefully, we can expand their community and bring them close to our hearts, and help the healing process.

If you want to read up on the news report itself, go to www.cbc.ca

Shattered.

It isn't fair!

What feeble words. The radio was playing at work yesterday, and I heard the news. And I wept. I wept as I worked. I didn't have the luxury to stop working so that I might weep; but I had the luxury to keep working so that for short periods of time, I might escape the emptiness in the pit of my heart.

On Friday, 14 December, 2012, children in two countries across the world from each other had their peaceful lives sacrificed to the whims of two selfish madmen. These men came to their schools specifically. They came with violent intent to a building whose sole purpose is to benefit children. Their target of violence was children.

Just before 8am, in the village of Chenping, Guangshan county, in Henan, China, a 36-year old man stabbed and injured 22 children and an adult. Of these twenty-two children, nine were hospitalised, seven locally, and two out-of-county for more advanced treatment. Thankfully, none of the children were killed.

At around 9:30am, in Newtown, Connecticut, U.S.A., a 20-year old man, after killing his mother, broke into the school where she worked as a substitute teacher and shot and killed 20 children and 6 adults. He then killed himself.

Those children in China, with their families and friends, have a chance to rebuild their peaceful lives.

Not so those children in the United States.

I have not the love, or patience, kindness or forgiveness of a saint. I have the hurt and anger of a parent, who is feeling broken for the parents of those children. What could be more heart-rending than the loss of one's child? One's precious little one? A sister? A brother? Grandchild? Cousin? Friend? Student? The loss of that little life, so perfect in its innocence, the vivaciousness of doing those little, naughty things to test boundaries, the complete absorbtion of imagination to the exclusion of all else, including being called to supper four times already? What? Tell me what could be worse. The rest of the world can go to Hell, for all that I care but for the sake of children! I know, I know. That makes no sense at all, for if the world is that messed-up, how could it be any place worthy of our children? But share with me, this expression of horror, and forgive me my vengeful hatred: I hope the Chinese man suffers horribly for what he has done to the children of his neighbours. I wish the American man who attacked those children were still alive to suffer the torment of the consequences of his violence. I am feeling a deep hatred for them both, and no forgiveness at all. And the hatred hurts. I must leave the forgiveness of these two men to the saints and to God, for I haven't the strength or will for it.

This season, and always, please remember the families who lost their little ones. As we celebrate a season dedicated to family and loved ones, togetherness and hope, the triumph of Light over Dark, of giving and forgiveness; send your thoughts of love and comfort to them. They need all the strength they can get.

Dedicated to the children and families of Chengping, Henan, China; and to the children and families of Newtown, Connecticut, U.S.A.

December, 2012.

Last night I wrote and posted a review on a really cool webcomic by Lucy Lyall called "Kaspall."

I deliberately did not give a synopsis, nor did I refer to any of the characters. I want no spoilers for you. When I started reading "Kaspall" it was with no knowledge of its content.

I enjoyed going into it like that. If you read my review, you will start with more information than I did, but hopefully I won't ruin that "blank slate" feeling too much.

This weekend, I was sick in bed with a nasty cold. I will spare you the particulars, but to fill my time when I was unable to sleep, I read the entire archives of a webcomic called "Kaspall," by Lucy Lyall.

The artwork is, in short, beautiful. It is done entirely in black-and-white by hand; pencilled, then inked, on paper and then scanned. Its richness would be lost if it were ever colourised.

"Kaspall" is, simply put, a murder mystery. But there is nothing simple in the setting, details, or characters. Very rarely do I read something that takes me by surprise and makes me pause and think "hm. That was interesting," or "wuh! That was creepy!"  There is a natural flow of details that is entirely realistic in its mundane occurrence of day-to-day life. We create a habit of existence that is shattered when a grisly murder happens upon our doorstep (or down the street, over a-ways), not so much because of the violence of the crime itself, but because of those selfsame little details that were there, all along, completely unnoticed by us until the police come 'round, asking their questions.

For a long time, it has not been the Poirots or the Sherlocks that have given me frissons beyond that of a fictional escape. They absolve me of intellectual responsibility, and I am as a balloon, wafting on the currents. Their stories have become aloof and otherworldly. Even when I have tried to solve crimes alongside Mr Holmes (as it were), rarely do I solve the mystery. And it is certainly not because of the clues that are glaringly clear to him. These have become obscure to me due to the writing itself (where the details are not fully revealed until the end of the story), or because of the cultural differences of the passage of eras.