I'm quite aware that my normal tone could probably best be described as "snarky bastard," so this one's something of a departure for me. How to begin…?
The last few days, I've been in pretty much of a dark place. Not, I hasten to add, that words like "clinical" would be appropriate; but, well, shit's happened and I've not quite managed my usual "if you can't fix it, don't let it get to you" bounce-back. Some of it, a major part of it, is stuff that's happened offline and I've kept mostly private, in that I've not spread it around much online (being mostly a private sorta chap). Couple that with a few nights of (possibly not unrelated) insomnia, and well… you can probably imagine that the bounce in my bounce-back would be slightly less, erm, bouncy than normal.
Then there's the online shit.
In the last few days, I've read of, and read the words and heard the speeches of, rape-apologists and circumcision-apologists. I've read FGM-not-exactly-apologists, but rather those who appear to see it as nothing but a convenient club for bashing teh ebil Mooslins, without paying any heed to the fact that, globally, it's done roughly as much by Christians as by Muslims. Or, indeed, that trying to deal with complex issues like, for instance, the idea that how to actually bloody stop people doing it, might take more thought than a ranty "not-racist-because-Dog-Whistles-don't-exist" video focussing on the fact that they're immigrants! (Is it, somehow, less of a barbarity if the family in question haven't moved to a European country, before carving their daughter's lady-parts with a fucking gert knife?)
I've read of broken marriages, breaking marriages, abusive marriages.
I've watched—as, no doubt, have you—a bunch of right-wing political terrorists bring one of the most powerful countries in the world to a grinding halt, all in order to appease a faction of militant fundamentalist morons who believe they have the god-given right to dictate terms regarding other people's sex-lives.
I've read of child-abuse, both sexual, violent, and psychological. And any and all possible mixtures of those ingredients.
I've seen and heard people defend the fucking EDL as "not racist," fer Bog's sake, because—well whatdya know?—their own mission statement says they aren't, and because Tommy Robinson doesn't say racist things when he knows he's on national television. Because circular reasoning isn't a really real thing, and racist scum are incapable of lying; amiright? (Next time somebody comes out with that smug argument that all atheists are oh-so-rational, merely for having had the ability to notice that there's remarkably little evidence of invisible men in the sky—please do me the favour of laughing in their face.) (That's not to say atheism might not be a step in the right direction, mind, but replace "EDL mission statement" with "Bible," and, well come on! That's a circle we've all trod so many times we've worn a rut around the bloody mulberry bush!)
I've read… oh sod it; you get the picture. Almost everything I seem to have read the last few days has been crap-coloured to start with, and my own mood has seen me reading everything through crap-coloured glasses, until (to switch to a more wholesome metaphor) I've made mountains out of molehills and molehills out of little bumps smaller than those made by moles.
That's not to say it's been total gloom. I've essayed the occasional pun or jokey exchange and the like, and I have read some good things. But, where normally such things would put a bit of a spring in my step, the chuckles and smiles have quickly faded, and the crap-coated (sorry!) world of dross has claimed me back.
Then this happened. I followed a link to this song on You Tube. I wouldn't say I've listened to it a lot, but, well Gentle Reader, I've… erm… listened to it a lot. Non-stop for the last half-hour, in fact.
I have no idea what it's about, apart from a general morningishness. (Big clue in the title there.) I don't know whether it's religious/spiritual in nature, or just a pretty song, and, Gentle Reader, it doesn't really matter; I'm not even sure I want to find out. (Although I must admit that Native American religion and mythology is summat I know sod all about, and I've a feeling it could be at least more interesting than the Abrahamic.) Normally, I suspect, I might have played the song once, thought Oh, that's kinda pretty, and moved on to my more normal fare of rockabilly, punk, metal and suchlike dainty ditties. Just right now, though, and I have no idea why, this "kinda pretty" song which I don't even understand the words of, has profoundly affected me. I actually feel actually properly lastingly happy, for the first time in several days.
</non-snarky-bastard-(apart from the snarky bits)-interlude>
P.S. While I'm thinking of nice things, Rachel Hanson, one of the very first followers of this blog (the first, who hadn't followed me from the old site, if memory serves), has gorn and got herself some even better news than my escape from a few days of doom 'n' gloom. There's a little-un on the way. Ah, the thought of someone else about to put themselves through eighteen-plus years of sheer, erm… no, best not finish that thought. Congratulations to Rachel!
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