Just like with the Batman theater shootings and the Sandy Hook shootings, I REFUSE to talk about who perpetuated these acts by giving them any press or validity, so if you are reading this for facts, go to Huffington Post, for you will find none here. This is not about facts, or who did what. This about me asking what the fuck is going on? Like, really? This is not me talking about what just went down in Boston to talk about it. This is me seriously asking, what the fuck is going on? Not in the “I want literal answers” way, but in the “I feel like I am on a ride going way too fast and have no idea which way is up or down and totally need to vomit” way. What has happened to this world? There is LITERALLY nothing safe left in this world, from marathons to grade schools. So what do you do? Do you lock up your kids and just refuse to go out? Do you hide away, scared of the relentless violence that is so pronounced in everyone’s life? Do you perpetuate it with more violence, against those who committed the violence in the first place? Again, I have no idea. I am simply scared as fuck and asking anyone who will listen.
Fall River is an incredibly interesting town. There is so much culture and history there, but in the same breath, it has become sort of ghetto. A refuge for those who are poor (which is EXACTLY why I lived there) and destitute, yet don’t want to live in the LITERAL hood. Fall River is where you go if you don’t want to go “full hood”, yet you want to pay hood prices. The last town where you can still find hundred-dollar ounces. And though Fall River is never shy on weird people and awesome stories, this tale is decidedly darker than my typical Fall River tales. This is one of those stories you hear someone bring up as if it is in urban legend, and you kindly let them know it did indeed happen, and you were in direct proximity to it. While the main twist in the story is already revealed in the article title, it is how this guy did it that will truly floor you.
Being a huge fan of fucked up films, and being gamer as well, it bothers me to no end that two of my passions are the first things attacked by media anytime some kid with a messed up head does a messed up deed. And don’t even get me started on they way music is everybody’s scapegoat when someone in society shows us their true, sociopath roots. If kids shoot up a school, murder kids and teachers, and then kill themselves, you think the music they listened to factors into that? Explain to me how? Songs don’t buy fucking guns. Songs don’t fill notebooks with detailed plans on murdering people. No, songs provide nothing more than background noise for people who are that disturbed. But wait, who is doing the blaming here? Mass-media, huh? That is ironic, because while they are doing this, they are trying to distract us from the fact that they, themselves, are the ones to blame. Television news is the most vile programming you can watch. It throws violence at you at such an alarming rate that, once you notice what they do are actually doing, it’s all you can see. Rape and death. Paranoia and fear. Mass media cashes in on things most wouldn’t dare admit even exists. The suffering of humanity. But it is never too late to learn to shut off y our television, before it shuts you off to what it’s like to feel empathy.
If you told me, a year ago, that I would be willingly writing an article about Keanu Reeves, I would have called you a liar. Yet, I found out about his life, and my whole perspective on him changed forever. His is a life accentuated by constant tragedy, and it is hard not to admire his bravery once you find out what he has been through. He is also incredibly generous and altruistic, and these acts often get overshadowed, or never spoken of at all. So I figured I would take some time to talk about a man whose life you would not wish on an enemy. A man whose strength, in real life, greatly outshines some of the heroes he plays on the big screen. This is the staggering true story of Keanu Reeves. Might want to keep some tissues nearby. These are Shakespearean levels of tragedy at play here.
We both watched as the ball rolled in to his yard. That big yard of that strange old man. That sick feeling filled our gut. We walked over to the edge of the dead grass and we tossed each other an unsure glance.
” He makes little boys in there, you know?”, I said to Timmy, as if he hadn’t heard it a million times.