I am disappointed with the world.
It never fails to disappoint me in disappointing me.
Every day I hope I move closer to my goal of escaping the world and becoming a recluse.
I've mentioned before that I live in a violent sort of town. 20,000 people, mining, army, farming, lots of testosterone, lots of bars, lots of beer, nothing to do. It doesn't lead anywhere good.
Last time I wrote about it a young man was bashed to within an inch of his life. Just down the road. And in the next few months, some other young men will go to jail for doing that to him.
Many lives ruined over what, five minutes of "fun".
No winners there.
A couple of nights ago another young man here was bashed and kicked to within an inch of his life. He's on life support with a fractured skull.
And I feel broken hearted about the whole affair.
Because everyone talks about it. And everyone says – oh, that was awful, oh poor guy, oh, they need their arses kicked.
But they don't really care.
People are so desensitised to violence that they say all the right words, but don't really feel anything.
You know what I thought about when I heard this had happened? I thought about his mother getting a phone call at 3am in the morning. I thought about her ringing the airline, booking a flight, making the trip to a shitty country town in NSW where her son was working, so she could stand beside his bed and watch him fight for his life, because twelve drunken idiots had decided his life wasn't worth anything.
Her beautiful boy.
Her beautiful boy come to this.
And if he dies, all he'll be to anyone is three or four lines in a newspaper.
A few years ago it used to be our teenage girls we had to worry about. And god, I still do, every time they leave the house. But now it seems to be our boys we have to worry about more. So much senseless random violence out there.
Kickings, bashings, glassings, stabbings.
Someones son, brother, father, boyfriend, husband.
Spare a thought for this young man. Wrong place, wrong time people say. Is that meant to be some sort of comfort.