Watching , consuming the events of this planet through the lens of the popular media is like picking a scab. Everyday you scar a bit more. Everyday you destroy sensitivity, become a bit more more hardened, a little less hurt by the damage you do to your perception.
There are many things that upset me on this world. Many things that spur me into a caffeine fueled rage on paper. Not much makes me cry though. Not much reaches out and touches me in that certain way.
The outpouring of grief, anger, frustration and pain that greeted the police vans containing the accused last week surprised me. It wasn't the reaction of the people. It wasn't to anyone's surprise that the woman who raped, abused the children in her care, who broadcast these acts to the everyday would produce such a reaction. It was the strength of the reaction. It reached out of my televisions cathode ray tube and twisted my gut, squeezed my soul. It felt like a pressure on my being.
Of course, to secure a successful conviction the parents of the 'featured' children will have to identify them in the pictures, the videos...
Transmission Ends...
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