A Marker

I don't have anything of value to add, but the events of this weekend are not the sort of thing you can just let pass without comment.

So here's to Christina Grimmie, the twenty-two-year-old woman who had appeared on The Voice and was signing autographs in Orlando, Florida on Friday when a gunman approached and shot and killed her. Naturally, he then blew his brains all over the venue when a bystander grabbed him. 

And, of course, a day later Christina was pushed from the headlines by the mass shooting at a queer nightclub in Orlando where forty-nine people were killed and at least as many injured. All they were doing was dancing. 

Fifty-year-olds are supposed to die of cancer, but twenty-somethings are not supposed to die in a hail of gunfire. May all the affected families find some measure of comfort... 

Actually, where the fuck are these people supposed to find any comfort? It's not like the dead are particularly unique at this point -- guns deaths, even mass shooting deaths, are a dime a dozen -- or that the motherfucking politicians are going to do anything to prevent this from happening again. What are you supposed to tell a mother whose son or daughter went out dancing with their friends but won't ever be coming home?

I wish I knew.