Black has no color

I love how they – they the experts gurus heads floating high like balloons in the dark – I love how they try to explain you to dissect to break you down into multitudes, as if the parts can dictate the whole as if the a finger can explain the mind.  But the finger pulled the trigger dinnit? Did the finger act independent of the whole?

I love how they inhaled your evil and exhaled a caricature, an avatar, a golem. And they're scared, scared that you reflect them, their desire for violence, for struggle, for drama. How they try to explain you away, try to talk, to talk and talk and talk as if talking actually solves something explain something – I love that. Love how they look to figure you out. Is it videogames? Or a strict culture. Culture – yeah, the culture of the wretched and poor, the huddled masses yearning, that culture? It's hard to assimilate, they say. As if culture can pull a trigger, as if a certain culture can cause someone to be like this.  I love all the boxes they're pulling out, trying different sizes on, trying to place you inside, as if you can be contained in a box, as if evil can be explained away, neat and bow-tied by psychological analysis.

Asians family don't talk much, they say. He was a loner cause of the pressure to succeed they say. Did he like video games, the shooting types they say? What did he do a lot – gosh he was just writing? Writing? Isn't that bad? Those Asians. Those Koreans. They try and bore inside of you, inside your brain, to explain what they see outside – a yellow angry boy.  Outside drives inside drives..

You smiled once. You trusted once. You loved once.

I love it. I love how like leeches they suck in the horrors of it all.  How did it feel, they ask, when you learned your friend, your son daughter brother sister father uncle died? How do you feel when you see the manifesto, the video, the writings? Did you think this could ever happen to you? Did you? How did it feel? How did it feel?

Shuddup shuddup shuddup shut up.

I love how they don't care about what happened, but only about what is happening -- to keep it happening, to keep it going, discussions discourses dialogues ratings.

Evil knows no color and black black is no colors and black is swirling around and it's comedic (in a sad way) sad (in a tragic way) tragic (in a horrifying despicable heart-rending brain numb shock arrested way) innit? A sister left behind, a dad, a mom.  And all those poor souls, mangled and broken.

Keep on keep on keep on brothers and sisters, love to love and float on on on cause faith is a feeling, just like doubt, and love is a power, just like hate and we're broken, broken without whys and only hows, left to pick up the pieces, make a collage out of the reflections, multi-colored something better something decent something for us to float float on, high on the currents of black that always flow underneath.