bekah brunstetter
Bekah Brunstetter I care deeply. About a lot of things. Like really, really deep. Ow
playwright in brooklyn, NY

What is this sickness?

July 25th, 2015 by Bekah Brunstetter

I’ve been trying not to worry or obsess or worbsess over the Layfayette tragedy, but is it even possible anymore to ignore these shootings? To not let them rest on us and encase our thoughts and push themselves in front of priorities?  It is not lost on me that a week ago, I also was a 33rd year old girl at Trainwreck with her buds. There’s an immediacy to these events now. There are the terror attacks, sure, but there are trusted agents thwarting (most of) those, and there is a logic, to those acts. Senseless but logical.  But then there are seemingly average Americans with legally purchased weapons snapping suddenly and deciding to shoot whoever and wherever they are. There is a lack of logic to these shootings that’s maddening, crimes that can’t quite be justified or traced and so they can’t be processed or digested or prevented. All I know is, there is a SICKNESS. It is vague and growing and feeding itself and finding the lonely and the frustrated and convincing them that not only should they die, they should bring as many people with them as possible to prove some vague and growing and constantly shifting point. WHAT IS. THIS. SICKNESS? Jillian and Mayci’s internet lives are now household property. If nothing else, can we agree to NOT publish the names of these shooters? To not give them the sick satisfaction of posthumous fame? Could we instead say,  ‘he he will never be named committed this act, and shall be tossed into an unmarked grave’? Could we agree to forget them and bury them, ingloriously? Would this somehow maybe deter others? Is the fame part of it? Is it a strange longing for a wikipedia page?  WHAT. IS. IT.

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