Saddam's Death...
I'm still at work, it's 10:15 and the british DJ has just announced that Saddam has been executed. Maybe it's the dark, lonly office, or the sad-ish music. Perhaps it's the sound of two tiny speakers' silent desires to flood a 7,000 sq foot office with sound; I'm not sure, but I feel sad, even for Saddam. Shoot, I'm honestly ready to cry for him... Death is no solution. It only causes me to wonder what he was like, and the experiences of his life that lead him to where he was. Was he really so harsh as a young kid, or did he stomp in puddles and try to get to the moon with a pot on his head like the rest of us? And feeling this, can I really believe in hell? I don't want even he to suffer after death. Maybe a part of me believes that in heaven he could have a fresh start, a chance to be the astronaught or fireman he always wanted... or at least a chance to spray shit with a hose.
Not one death is worth celebrating. Maybe I'm the only one who'll shed tears over his loss, over a life ending as a finality of dissappointments and could have beens. Maybe I'm the only one who wonders if in America, with a good family, he could have turned out different. Maybe, but I hope my thoughts and mournings reach him and help light his way to whatever lies ahead. I can't say we'll miss you, but I mourn for who you might have been.
Not one death is worth celebrating. Maybe I'm the only one who'll shed tears over his loss, over a life ending as a finality of dissappointments and could have beens. Maybe I'm the only one who wonders if in America, with a good family, he could have turned out different. Maybe, but I hope my thoughts and mournings reach him and help light his way to whatever lies ahead. I can't say we'll miss you, but I mourn for who you might have been.