Conrad's Kurtz

I have watched the PBS Newshour with near very religious fidelity since the start of my social services career, many years before MacNeil retired early, and long before the aging Jin Lehrer, of whom a fonder affection is generated, moved himself behind the scenes, and unlike the young athlete I am only casually espying on television, I cannot go for a contemplative stroll on a path with fall strewn leaves, even if I had one of my chairs fully charged, and today, as the Google homepage and every other digital traditional media outlet reminds us, we could all use contact with our feet and the soil, draining away, losing the self, considering our sins. My television familiars, as I consider the Newshour anchors, broke the Newtown massacre for me. "Not again," seeped through, bitter wormwood, picturing my ferocity earning your shunning opprobrium if I pushed the envelope, but the WaPo headlines overwhelmed me. I break down in tears, and despite myself, if only to indicate how much this has penetrated my psyche, God help us for the weapons technology we have at our disposal. Barring sudden death from lung fluid, I shall return when tears cease to threaten the fetid city air that I breathe.