bloodwerks
Death presumes nothing. There is no more inexorable force in the anthropocentric universe than death, so, as such, death has little to presume. Life is a mercurial, rare sensation. Somewhere in the web of neurons at the base of our brains sits this understanding and realization, if something less grandly recorded than I have here.
So, why then should we bristle at the announcement of death, whether by war or some other social force? You don’t read articles in Slate with titles like “Gravity Keeps House from Floating into Space” or “Fire is Hot”; but you might read about how 64 people died in Najaf and Karbala, Iraq on Sunday, attacks intended to stop the election proceedings in Iraq. It’s arguably no more noteworthy than buildings remaining affixed to the surface of the planet.
Still yet, why do some folks care less about those 64 people than they do, for instance, Jon Benet Ramsey, whose value as a person, if you’re really honest with yourself, could never equal that of any 64 people on the planet. There is no one worth that much. Yet there will never be a made-for-TV-movie about any one, let alone all, of the 64 Iraqis killed Sunday.
These are obvious thoughts. There’s nothing really provocative or dangerous in them. Maybe that’s the worst thing of all.
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