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We're in Leeds tonight, at my mom's, because we needed to do some laundry and get away from the smell of cardboard for a while. And get Rusty's for dinner (I'd not eaten an actual meal since Friday). I'm exhausted, and I know Kathryn must be ten times tireder than I am. She had to do all that driving, plus all the rest. We'll head back to Birmingham tomorrow morning.

I've entirely failed at writing anything like a blow-by-blow of this move. Likely, that's for the best. It has been the hardest, messiest move of my life. I'm going to try to forget this move and all its particulars as soon as I am free to do that.

Today, the guys we hired from Two Men and a Truck came and unloaded the Penske that Byron drove down from Providence. Four and a half hours were needed to get the job done, schlepping all those boxes up three flights of stairs in the heat and humidity. Originally, me and Spooky and Byron and Jennifer (an old friend who lives in Verbena) were going to attempt to handle it ourselves. Then saner heads prevailed, though the did so at $125/hour. This move has been filled with hidden and unexpected fees.

Also, a water main broke somewhere and we were without water for much of the morning, while the movers were unloading, which made nothing easier. We don't yet have gas, because...I'm not sure why. Because people are stupid, near as I can tell. We get our internet turned on tomorrow afternoon.

We got into Birmingham yesterday evening a little after sunset. Mom met us at the new place, to bring us the keys.

I'm going to be changing the name of this journal, as I will no longer be writing from a red room. I will be working in a grey room. Or "bone white." Or something like that. I may go back to "Dear Sweet Filthy World."


10:45 a.m. (Saturday) at 25 Oak Street in Providence, where we lived for the past ten years.


Saturday, June 16th, is the first day I've not been able to make an LJ entry since, I think, sometime in 2015.

We're in Staunton, Virginia, and Lydia and Selwyn are exploring the bedroom, and Spooky's brushing her teeth, and I need to go to bed. I've been awake since 8 a.m. and on the road since 1 p.m. So, I will leave you with two photos from late yesterday, and I'll make another short post in the morning before we get back on the road.


7:18 p.m. (Friday)

7:20 p.m. (Friday)


Chilly tonight, currently 58˚F. But at least the sun came out late in the day.

And Byron is here. And we're still packing. And cleaning the apartment. And preparing to take our leave.

I'll have time for something short in the morning.


10 p.m. (last night)


It's dark now, and there's a dog barking out there in the chilly night. Currently, it's 68˚F and the skies are getting cloudy.

Apple-Kiwi Red Bull is kinda awesome.

And we're still packing.


7:26 a.m. (yesterday)

11:25 p.m. (yesterday, last night)


Cloudy and chilly today, mostly overcast, currently 72˚F.

One day, maybe I'll write about how this move has turned into an utter disaster, but not tonight. Right now, I just want to shut my eyes and pretend it's over. Regardless, thanks to Niels and Sonya, without whom things would be even worse than they are.


4:28 p.m. (yesterday)


Sunny today and warmish, a wind from the southwest gusting to 20 mph. Currently, it's currently 68˚F.

Yesterday, frantic packing. Breakfast from the Hudson Street Deli and dinner from New York System in Olneyville. Then more frantic packing. We had to be at the train station at 11:30 to pick up Sonya. And today, with the help of Niels Hobbs and Sonya, we'll be packing our two storage units in Pawtucket, then coming home to pack more here.

It feels very strange, the way the apartment is now. It's beginning to echo slightly.

From Facebook, yesterday –

It's hard to believe I'm still losing followers over Bernie Sanders, but there you go. I truly do not give a shit. (Hint: I loathe the motherfucker.)

~ and ~

In the summer of 1997, if I'd had any idea how good I had it in Athens, Georgia, I'd probably still be there today.


6:56 p.m.


I've been awake since just after 7 a.m., but I've managed to get nothing much done, thanks to the effects of the gabapentin. I have to make this very short, because we are down to the line, as it were, and tomorrow will be eaten up packing the storage unit, and Wednesday is when the movers come. We won't have time to get our breath until Thursday. At least the sun is coming out now, after I woke to an overcast sky.

Packing all day yesterday. Plus a trip to Lowes to get more boxes, bubblewrap, and tape. Almost all the pictures are down off the walls now.

Last night, after Night 2 of spaghetti (the last evening meal we are likely to cook here), and after more packing, we watch the lastest Parts Unknown on CNN, and then a special tribute to Anthony Bourdain.


10:03 p.m.


A little cloudy at the moment, 70˚F.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,105 words on "A Chance of Frogs on Wednesday." And it has been decided that I need to set the story aside until we're in Birmingham, so that I can spend more time packing. We need to be pretty much done with what's here in the house by tomorrow evening, and there's still a lot to go.

From Facebook, yesterday:

While I'm a tremendous admirer of Victor Fleming's adaptation of Gone With the Wind, and I understand the considerable difficulties of making such a long novel into a movie, I really do wish the film had found room for the character of Will Benteen. Reading the book for the first time, I find he enriches it greatly. He provides a sort of moral center and voice of reason.

~ and ~

Yes, I can be committed to resisting fascism *and* refuse to support Antifa. Not only do I find Anifa's frequently violent tactics objectionable, I cannot support any group largely composed of communists, socialists, and anarchists, political and economic systems I find almost as frightening as fascism.


9:10 p.m.


Warm and sunny this morning. Currently, the temperature is 74˚F, and we have a forecast high of 82˚F.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,003 words on "A Chance of Frogs on Wednesday." And I packed. And I sent out change of address notices to various friends and colleagues.

As for the packing, one the one hand, we seem to be getting down to odds and ends – except for all the framed pictures that have yet to be packed. On the other hand, there's an inevitable panic that we won't have time to get the last of it done, though we, in fact, have plenty of time.

We went out late yesterday, after dinner (leftover chili with mac and cheese) to run moving related errands, including getting a new cat carrier for Selwyn (it's pink), and we needed to go to the market. Back home, there was more packing, and then we watched Bob Fosse's Cabaret (1972), a favorite of mine we hadn't seen in a long time. And then I accidentally shut Lydia in my office all night.

Today's photographs plainly show how Providence is a place where terrible creatures lurk in plain sight.


6:51 p.m.

7:21 p.m.


Sunny this morning, and the day is supposed to be much warmer. We should see 80˚F.

I only managed about three and a half hours sleep this morning.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,181 words on a new story for Sirenia Digest 149, which I'm calling "A Chance of Frogs on Wednesday." I need to finish it by Sunday evening. There's so little time, and we still have some packing to do.

I went down into the basement for the first time in years yesterday. We have a bunch of stuff stored down there, in the musty bowels of the house, and we were having to decide what we're taking with us and what we're leaving. Spooky found still more manuscripts down there, all the stuff related to the godforsaken Beowulf novelization.

I woke to the news that Anthony Bourdain is dead. This is a really hard one to take. I loved that man so much.

Last night, after leftover chili and fresh avocado, we watched the new episode of RuPaul's Drag Race. I was very sorry to see Miss Cracker go home. Earlier in the season, I'd honestly believed it was going to come down to Cracker and Eureka, but then Aquaria sort of came from behind, and...there you go. Afterwards, we watched Göran Olsson's That Summer (2017), which serves as a sort of afterword to Grey Gardens (1975). But, truth be told, That Summer is, in most ways, the superior documentary, a more sincere and less exploitative film, kinder somehow to the Beales, and much better filmed. The camera turns in ruin of crumbling old house into something beautiful. There was a brief bit at the windmill at Hammersmith Farm on Conanicut Island, the childhood home of Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis (who figures importantly in the film), and we recognized the location without the film ever explaining that it was Hammersmith Farm.

I am not even remotely awake.


4:55 p.m.


The sun is out this morning. Currently, it's 63˚F, and we may reach 72˚F.

The storage unit was a bit more overwhelming than I'd expected it to be. Actually, it's two storage units, a large one and a small one. Mostly, it's stock books, copies of my Subterranean Press and Roc books. And all this will go into the 16' Penske truck that Byron's driving. Yesterday, we tried to consolidate boxes, especially half empty boxes, and fortify weak boxes with more tape. And Spooky discovered several manuscripts that ought to have gone to Brown with all the rest, but were missed somehow. These include the hand-corrected galleys of the first edition of Silk and the handwritten revisions for the 2008 Subterranean Press edition of Tales of Pain and Wonder. Also, this morning, she tracked down the mouse to my Macintosh Color Classic (circa 1993). The computer was donated to Brown, with all the manuscripts and everything, but it was discovered the mouse was missing. Now, it isn't anymore.

Today, I have to write.

Last night, Spooky made chili and then we watched George Sydney's Anchors Aweigh (1945), with Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra. In Guys and Dolls Sinatra is still young and skinny and cute. In Anchors Aweigh, he's pretty much a baby.


12:48 p.m.


Overcast and chilly, currently only 56˚F. We are promised a glimpse of blue sky, and I hope we get it soon. Yesterday, we saw a little sun, and the rain was more summerish than the driving winter rain we got Monday. But it was a long way from a summer day. Our high was only, briefly, 71˚F.

Only packing yesterday. And today we have to go to the storage unit in Pawtucket again to be sure everything in it is well packed and ready to be loaded onto a truck next week. Then we'll come home and pack more. And tomorrow I intend to write. The signature pages for The Dinosaur Tourist were finally mailed back to Subterranean Press on Monday, and that's the only work-related thing that's happened this week. The most interesting thing I packed yesterday was an alligator skull (below).

Last night, Spooky cooked, and then we watched Vincente Minnelli's An American in Paris (1951).


2:03 p.m.


So far as weather is concerned, yesterday was miserable in all ways. The temperature never rose above 56˚F, and add to that the wind and rain. I think we actually had a windchill yesterday. I awoke this morning to unexpected sunlight, which we only lost about fifteen minutes ago. Presently, it's 68˚F and overcast.

Nothing yesterday but packing, and that will be today. Except we have someone coming at 7 p.m. to repair the back of the big case in the middle parlor, so that it can be safely moved. But I have a plan as regards getting something for the next digest written. Tomorrow, we have to go back to the storage unit and get its contents ready to move next Tuesday. But after that's done, I'm going to spend Thursday through Sunday (and maybe early Monday) writing, before the homestretch of the move begins.

The Cable Car cinema has closed, back on May 27th, after forty-two years. It's another big loss for Providence, which seems determined to lose so much about itself that is good.

Last night, after dinner from New York System (the move is doing nothing good for our eating habits) in Olneyville, more packing, and then we watched the latest episode of I'm Dying Up Here, followed by Joseph L. Mankiewicz' Guys and Dolls (1955), which is probably my favorite musical.


6:04 p.m.


Juneuary, that's what it is today. After a low in the 40s˚F last night, we're currently at 53˚F and won't see better than 54˚F. Overcast and rainy.

I did write yesterday, just not very much. I have a good title, but I may have to give in and resign myself to the possibility that I won't get any writing done until after the move. I can't really afford that, but it may be true, regardless.

I packed the last of the office yesterday, save my desk and the things on my desk, which I'll hold back until the very last, sometime next week. Today I will either write or pack, or both.

Last night, dinner from KFC, a rarely indulged vice, and then more packing, and then we watched Singin' in the Rain (1952), because it's one of Kathyrn's favorites, and I needed something lighthearted.


5:04 p.m.


Mostly sunny, but the chill has returned, here in June. It's only 64˚F, a good twenty degrees cooler than this time yesterday.

No writing yesterday. I'm trying again today. The packing continues. I feel as if I ought to be saying more about the move, about...a lot of things. I used to go on and on and on here. It likely means something, that I'm not writing more about these days, about the preparations for the move, about my feelings regarding it all. But I'm not sure what it says.

Today, Lydia is one year old.

Last night, we got dinner from Bucktown. The kitchen is getting too crowded with cardboard and half packed to cook. And then we watch reruns of Drag Race, because we were too tired to do much else. I didn't get to sleep until well after Spooky. I watched all of Billy Wilder's The Apartment (1960) and started Howard Hawk's Bringing Up Baby (1938) before I finally slept.


6:06 p.m.


It was sunny when I got up at about 8:30 a.m., but it's mostly cloudy now. Currently, it's 83˚F.

Yesterday was all boxes, a delirium of boxes, but almost all the books in the house are packed. The books are probably the single most daunting aspect of our packing. I did try to write, but that didn't happen. Perhaps today.

Last night, Spooky and I resurrected Kindernacht, which we've not observed in years, I think. But the stress and the weariness has been such that we thought it might do us good. We had sloppy joes, then ate Junior Mints and watched two Godzilla movies – Godzilla Raids Again (1955) and Mothra vs. Godzilla (1964). The latter is, I'm fairly certain, the result of a bad acid trip. And has anyone else ever noticed how much Anguirus looks like a giant durian fruit?

I think I only slept maybe four hours last night.

Today marks the 10th anniversary of our arrival in Providence from Atlanta. This is the longest, by far, that I have ever lived at any address. The previous record was four years, at both Liberty House 303 (Birmingham, Ala., August 1997-August 2001) and the old house by the cement plant (3rd Ave., Leeds, Ala., 1975-1979).


9:06 p.m.


Overcast here and 65˚F.

Yesterday was all packing, and now my office is essentially finished. Today, I need to try and start writing something for Sirenia Digest 149. I had planned to use the second half of ""The Eldritch Alphabētos" for that issue, but now I think I'm going to hold off on that until after the move, probably for 150 in July.

Last night, after more spaghetti, we watched the new episode of Archer and then reruns of Drag Race, because there wasn't a new episode this week. Oh, and the Deadliest Catch special that Mythbusters did way back in Season 12, because we hadn't seen it.

Today is the 20th anniversary of the "street date" (official release date) of Silk. I never imagined the book would still be in print two decades later.

Thanks to everyone who has told me they still read the blog. I honestly didn't think there were so many of you left.


7:13 p.m.


Sunny so far today, and it's currently 68˚F. The office window is open, and the air smells like spring.

Yesterday, I put Sirenia Digest 148 together, and even as I type this, Spooky is sending it out to subscribers. Somehow, I managed only to pack one box yesterday. I have to do a lot better today. Indeed, I expect today to be nothing but packing.

There was spaghetti for dinner last night, and then, heaven help us, we watched four episodes of Duck Dynasty. Which was more than enough of that.

These are not exciting days to write about. Possibly things will be more interesting after the move. Then again, I should no longer pretend that anyone is reading this and hanging on my every word, that I am writing this for anyone but myself.


5:58 p.m.


Sunny and warm today. Currently, it's 76˚F. Yesterday, the temperature made it as high as 86˚F.

Many boxes were packed. We got through all the paleontology books, which comes to a couple of bookcases. Early in the day, we drove out to Pawtucket, to the storage unit, in order to gauge what needs to be done before we load its contents. Today, I have to put together Sirenia Digest 148 before I can think about packing.

Last night, dinner from New York System, and then, after more of the aforementioned packing, we caught up on Deadliest Catch. Crabs, crabs, crabs.


Given the support I have shown for the Roseanne reboot, I need to make it clear how angry I am at her Roseanne Barr's behavior the last few days. It's sickening, and it was right for ABC to cancel the series. I was willing to try and overlook her faults, because I believed the series had the potential to bridge a gap that desperately needs bridging, between the shrill far right and the shrill far left. But that opportunity has been squandered. I don't regret supporting the show, and I feel bad for the rest of the cast.


12:10 p.m.


Sunny today, and the warmth is back. Currently, it's 75˚F.

Sonya is back in Boston. We took her to the station sometime around 4:30 yesterday afternoon. Six of the nine bookcases in my office are packed. I can handle the rest on my own. Today, we need to drive over to Pawtucket and see what needs to be done at the storage unit before we load it into the Penske truck on the 12th. Time is getting short. Tomorrow, I have to put Sirenia Digest 148 together and get it out to subscribers.

Yesterday morning, the news reached me that Gardner Dozois has died. We weren't friends, only acquaintances. But I can credit him with getting me back into writing science fiction after I'd given up, when he bought "Riding the White Bull" in 2005 for his The Year's Best Science Fiction.

Last night, after a dinner of tuna casserole, we watched TV until we were sleepy, new episodes of Naked and Afriad XL (yeah, I know; we all have our vices) and Archer and I'm Dying Up Here. Then I couldn't get to sleep until after 3:30 a.m., because my brain wouldn't shut off.

My office is looking less and less like my office.


4:27 p.m.


We are promised that some semblance of warmth is returning today, but at the moment it's overcast and 56˚F.

Yesterday, Sonya and I packed dozens of boxes of books in my office. Spooky drove out to western Rhode Island, George Washington State Campground, where where her brother and sister were camped. Her parents were there, as well. She came back smelling sort of wonderfully of wood smoke. After dinner from Bucktown, more packing, and then Sonya and I talked until my meds kicked in about 12:30 a.m.

Today, more packing. Spooky's about to head out to liquor stores to find more boxes.


5:21 p.m.


Overcast and cold, currently 57˚F. Yesterday's taste of summer – it reached about 90˚F – has been banished for the time being, and it is March again.

There was a great deal of packing yesterday, though, for one reason and another, Sonya and I made far less progress than I'd hoped we would. Perhaps today will go better. Kathryn ran errands. We had barbecue chicken for dinner, and then birthday cake. I've had much worse birthdays, and I thank Spooky for making this one as good as it was.

Today, my Grandmother Ramey would have been 104. And Harlan Ellison – mentor, friend, provocateur, and an extraordinary author – is 84, and I wish him a fine day.

Last night, getting sleepy, I watched Billy Wilder's hilarious Stalag 17 (1953), which I'd not seen in a long time.


7:46 p.m.

5:36 p.m.


Sunny and getting very warm. Currently, it's 82˚F. Lydia is lying in my opens window, watching birds and bugs and enjoying the day.

And now I am 54.

No writing or editing or even packing yesterday. Today will be all packing books.

As for Solo, I enjoyed it very much. I think Alden Ehrenreich was a great choice for the title role, though it's also true that Woody Harrelson and Donald Glover kinda steal the show from him. But there's so much in this film to love, from the opening train job (very, very, very reminiscent of Firefly) to Han and Chewie mud wrestling to seeing exactly how the Kessel run was managed in only twelve parsecs (well, actually slightly more than twelve, but Han rounds down). I'm very grateful that Lord and Miller walked and Ron Howard directed, instead. No, it's not the best Star Wars film, but I think it is one of the better ones. Somewhere, long time ago, I ranked all the Star Wars films from best to worst, and now I can't find the list. But today I'd say the top five look like this:

1. The Empire Strikes Back
2. Rogue One
3. A New Hope
4. The Force Awakens
5. Solo

Later Taters,

1:10 p.m.


Sunny and summery here, currently 85˚F.

An excellent writing day yesterday. I did 1,417 words and finished Part One of "The Eldritch Alphabētos" – "K is for Kingsport," "L is for Leng," and "M is for Mother Hydra."

Last night, we watched Vincente Minnelli's The Long, Long Trailer (1954) with Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball, an old favorite of mine. That was after I packed many boxes, getting ready for Sonya's arrival today, getting everything in my office packed but the books (and my desk), because Sonya's helping me with the books.

This afternoon, Spooky and I saw Solo: A Star Wars Story, but I'll hold my comments for tomorrow.

Anyway, I should wrap this up. Spooky's gone to get Sonya from the train depot. Meanwhile, meet the cats of Knight Street.


5:51 p.m.


Sunny and 64˚F.

Yesterday might have been a lost days so far as writing was concerned, but it turned into a mostly decent day by afternoon. I went with Kathryn to run errands, which included the post office on Thayer Street, where my copies of Houses Under the Sea: Mythos Tales were waiting. What a beautiful goddamn book. I'm genuinely proud of it. Jared Walters makes amazing books, and that's an understatement if ever there were one. And, of course, much of the credit for this volume's beauty goes to the four artists who worked on it with us, Richard Kirk, Vince Locke, John Kenn Mortensen, and Piotr Jabłoński. The signature sheets alone are amazing, as they had to go from Colorado (where Centipede Press is based) to Providence, Detroit, Ontario (London), Poland (Białystok), Denmark (Copenhagen), Seattle, and Manhattan. This book had, by far, the longest gestation time of any of my short story collections, almost exactly five years, beginning in the spring of 2013, when Jerad approached me about compiling all my Lovecraftian stories into a single volume.

Today, I am going to try and finish the first half of "The Eldritch Alphabētos," K-M.

Last night, we got dinner from New York System in Olneyville, then watched the new Roseanne and also Elia Kazan's Sea of Grass (1947), with Katherine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy.


4:44 p.m.


Partly sunny and 70˚F.

And the day is already lost. I've been awake since before 8 a.m.

Yesterday, I wrote 1,031 words on "The Eldritch Alphabētos," finishing "I is for Ib" and "J is for John Raymond Legrasse." And I packed.

Last night, we watched Vincente Minnelli's Father's Little Dividend (1951), the sequel to Father of the Bride (1950).

I haven't yet seen last week's episode of The Expanse, because the news that SyFy cancelled the series was just too goddamn depressing. But now Amazon has picked it up. So, fuck you SyFy. You killed Farscape and you killed Defiance, but you have not killed The Expanse.

As you can see, Lydia's helping with the packing.


1:20 p.m.


Overcast and chilly this morning. Currently, it's 68˚F, but it feels more like 53˚F.

An utterly lost day yesterday, and I knew it early on. So, we finally went to see Avengers: Infinity War. And I really liked, though it's as much a Guardians of the Galaxy film as it is an Avengers film. To its betterment. There are a lot of films you'd be utterly lost without having seen first, and a very few you don't need to have seen to follow what's going on. You don't need to have seen Ant Man (2015), Black Panther (2017), or Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017). But all the rest, you need to have seen. You'll be utterly lost if you haven't seen the two Guardians (2017) movies and Thor: Ragnarok (2017). That said, given all the films you need to have watched to follow the action, it amazes me that the film has (and I'll quote Wikipedia) ...grossed $595 million in the United States and Canada, and $1.222 billion in other territories, for a worldwide total of $1.817 billion. It is currently the fourth highest-grossing film of all time, as well as the highest-grossing film of 2018, and the highest-grossing superhero film ever. Impressive.

Last night, no packing. Just dinner from Bucktown and episodes of The Ranch I'd already seen four or five times. Comfort things. Today, though, I gotta get back on the horse, as it were.


10:53 a.m.


Sunny today and already 65˚F.

Yesterday was, almost entirely, a lost day, so far as work is concerned. But I did a lot of packing. I'm having to clear the shelves in my office of all the things that are not books, because Sonya will be arriving on Friday afternoon to help me pack them. She'll be here until Monday. I could never, ever manage it alone. I shudder to think how many boxes it will come to. Well over one hundred. I've pretty much finished packing the large display case.


There are currently somewhere between 270 million and 310 million guns in the United States, and if you think there's any way to realistically (never mind peacefully) get rid of the majority of those, and if you're calling for making all guns illegal, you're not only deluded, you're as big a part of the problem as the NRA. The solution is one that works around the guns, not one that attempts to criminalize gun ownership across the board.

If you don't understand why it's not as easy to have zero guns and universal health care and free college in America as it is in some relatively tiny European nation...well, I can't help you.


Last night, new episodes of I'm Dying Up Here.


9:51 p.m.


Pretty much overcast and 67˚F. At least it's much warmer today. Yesterday was genuinely miserable, cold and rainy and not the lest bit like May.

Yesterday, I worked on the "The Eldritch Alphabētos" and did 878 words for "H is for Hound." And I mostly finished packing the big case in the middle parlor. Late in the afternoon, we drove over to College Hill, to the corner of Arnold and Brook streets, so I could photograph the lizards above the front door of the Jane Kelly House (circa 1840, see photo below).

Last night, we watched Elia Kazan's A Face in the Crowd (1957), a darkly brilliant film that comes as close as anything did to predicting the rise of the Horror Clown.


If you find something sexist or racist or whatever-ist, just fucking come out and say so, instead of getting all mealy-mouthed and condescending with shit like "troubling" and "worrying" and, worst of all, "problematic." Please.


4:14 p.m.


I only slept about five hours last night, and I'm running late, so I should make this short. Here in Providence, it's still cold spring, overcast and currently 55˚F.

Yesterday, I wrote 898 words, "G is for Ghoul" (what else?), for "The Eldritch Alphabētos," which will be serialized between Sirenia Digest 148 (May, A-M) and 149 (June, N-Z). And I packed. Spooky got new glasses.

Last night, we watched Vincente Minnelli's Father of the Bride (1950).

I feel like the question no one is asking, and it might be the most important question, is why have school shootings become so common. It's not only a matter of the availability of guns. During the twelve years of my primary/secondary education, 1970-1982, there were thirty-eight school shootings in all of America – in twelve years! And none were mass shootings. We've had sixty-six school-shootings just since 2015! What changed? It's not only semi-automatic weapons. Is it just that the once unthinkable became increasingly thinkable? I look at what's happening and see that something has gone wrong with the fabric of our nation, and while I do advocate reasonable gun control, new laws are not going to stop the problem, because it's not only about the guns. If we pretend it is, the problem will not be solved. Seeking an answer is one reason I have become more socially conservative. (Statistics via Wikipedia, and note that I did not include three events between 1970 and 1982, namely the Kent State shootings, the Jackson State shootings, and the Symbionese Liberation Army attack in Oakland).


11:50 a.m.