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What’s next?

For the first couple of weeks after my shoulder surgery, I maintained to family and friends that what really happened while under is that one of those large baseball types, strung tighter than a piano wire on steroids, armed with a Louisville slugger was hitting home runs on my shoulder.

Walking yesterday, it occurred to me what that was like. Torture. That’s what torture is like, with out the benefit of anesthesia. It almost goes with out saying that head shots are strictly an out. We must keep them alive.

Where is the outrage? Our silence screams volumes. A malignant festering cynicism has infected the very soul of our nation. Silence, complicity, participation tell me the difference. Reflexively, I ask what will be the next incremental incursion into our silence? What horror awaits? What good is our nation if its soul is so deceased that it will turn away from this shame in silence, away from these crimes and what else? Our lifestyle remains non-negotiable and devoid of any substance.



Donald Een

Cedar Ridge


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