Two thousand cameras were rolling in Boston when the bombs exploded.  Each frame is being examined: thus, the news. Six people lost legs, one that I heard of lost both below his knees.

The NRA wins, again. And, finally, the President is a fraction less buttoned-up, enough to let out something close to a real voice.  Who knows? It seems truer than it's ever been that the inmates are running the asylum.

I'm still writing about Cain, thinking about the Jewish/Christian creation myth--that our story begins in disobedience, ends in beaten, grateful humility, and deliverance. And what better promise could have been made in a world of slaves and tyranny than that there's a Father in the sky who so loves us that he's given us his Son as a sacrifice! Wonderful, the simple brilliance of the whole story--benevolence immersed in guilt and gratitude: truly, a dream come true.

Meanwhile, down here in the trenches of the other normal, roofers, across the way, are making roofing noises. A big blue tarp is draped over the corner of my neighbor's house to protect the windows below from falling and thrown shingles.  I love to hear hammers--have you ever watched an experienced roofer drive in 10d nails with two blows, one after the other? Beautiful, the rhythm, the strength, the flow of the body, from fingers to shoulder, the solid thunk of the nail driven deeply--then the second, finishing shot.

A helicopter buzzes, stays around, most likely a traffic copter checking the highway. Man-made insect engine growling.

In Boston, right now, someone's getting morphine for the pain.

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