> "In Reading gaol in Reading town,
> There is this pit of shame,
> And in it lies a wretched man,
> Eaten by teeth of flame"
> -{Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol}
>
>
> PRELUDE
> ========

> "All men kill the thing they love"
> Said Oscar Wilde of yore.
> But when more than thirty bullets found their mark
> It was not love, just blood and Gore.

> The meaning of life
> is not to be found
> in a thing so arbitrary
> as a speeding bullet
> > > > The Question Mark Man ================
> > > >
> > > >
> > > > Who are you, they asked him.
> > > > Who am I , he asked himself.
> > > > You're the loner weirdo, they told him.
> > > > I'm the Question Mark, he told his teacher.
> > > > The loner, the lonely eagle,
> > > > Cuz every man's an island.
> > > > So what's in the sea,
> > > > where these islands float?
> >
> > > He knew he was Asian, cos everyone told him so.
> > > He knew he was American, cos he grew up here, of course!
> > > They found him morose & moody.
> > > He found them grubby & greedy.
> > > When neighbors said "Hi, howzitgoing"
> > > He was quite oblivious, he kept on going.
> > > Hands in his pockets, safety of the womb
> > > Mind full of alienation, and silence of the tomb
> >
> > > His sisters went to Princeton
> > > And were sociable & nice
> > > He kept to himself
> > > Lone eagle, like so many around
> > > In a world of plenty
> > > He grew up wanting
> > > Though he knew not what
> > > "surely nothing around here!"
> >
> > > of that he was sure
> >
> > > It was time to go to college
> > > Oh those brilliant days of youth
> > > And the rites of passage
> > > With fraternities, & football
> > > spring breaks and heartbreaks
> >
> > > But none of that for him
> > > He was the question mark man
> >
> > > But he didn't ask anyone,
> > > for the meaning of his life> Some day somewhere, though
> > > there came a powerful voice
> > > that banished from him those traces
> > > of imagination and feelings
> > > of the rush of adrenaline
> >
> > > those things that makes life life
> >
> > > The voice perhaps was a sweet whisper
> > > perhaps it was a harsh cry
> > > That penetrated his insides
> > > And reverberated through his empty heart
> > > The echoes just wouldn't go away
> > > After many days had passed
> > > Other people heard each other talk
> > > He heard only the echoes..
> >
> > > Enemy...enemy..enemy...enemy
> > > said the echoes sometimes
> > > So lonely.. so lonely.. so lonely..
> > > He perhaps heard at other times
> > > (For wherever he looked
> >
> > > An Enemy found He)
> >
> > > He looked all aroung him
> > > Something's Gotta Give!
> > > said the voice again
> > > tearing through those echoes
> >
> > > Those infernal echoes
> > > His teacher had perhaps heard
> > > throught that paper he'd submitted
> > > as assignment in creative writing class
> > > The teacher felt concerned
> > > and let the counselor know
> > > cos if there was anybody trained for this
> > > It would be those that know
> >
> > > About how humans are wired
> > > and about how they are structured
> > > And what causes input into equations
> > > Tell of the Effects or results
> > > Time passed...things were forgotten.
> > > But not by him..oh those infernal echoes
> >
> > > He went to a Gun store
> > > And bought just two, sleek & shiny
> > > He was not a criminal,
> > > And yes he had the money,
> > > That his parents had earned
> > > in another lifetime
> > > in the promised land
> > > where they came with hope
> >
> > > Oh those infernal echoes..
> > > Oh the injustice in the world!
> > > Something's gotta give!
> > > Something's gotta give!
> > > His protest was for the injustice
> > > of those who had money
> > > of that he was sure
> > > and those people all around
> >
> > > who seemed evil
> > > and didn't deserve to live
> > > His parents, where did they belong?
> > > He didn't know & he didn't care
> > > Itchy trigger finger
> > > Shiny gun in hand
> > > walking around campus
> > > "They have no idea. Fools!"
> >
> > > "Of the Power in my hands
> > > Of the pure ideas in my head
> > > Of a better place than this
> > > Without echoes..those infernal echoes"> Blam Blam...Bang Bang...
> > > more than thirty times..
> > > Far away in a foreign land
> > > with surprise & sadness
> > > his grandpa said
> > > "He was a Good Boy!"
> >
> > > Closer to home his parents
> > > with a hint of accent
> > > and hesitation said
> > > "He had some problems talking."
> > > More stories of this
> > > some more of that
> > > mixed with tributes and mourning
> > > of those the bullets had found.
> >
> > > Some say it's water under the bridge
> > > Others want to get to the bottom
> > > so, soon there will be fact finding
> > > so this never happens again.
> > > And after all that is done
> > > And the reports made and read
> > > One may still wonder
> > > As to what the whole point is.
> >
> > > And the point is...?
> >
> > > Some day somewhere, though
> > > there came a powerful voice
> > > that banished from him those traces
> > > of imagination and feelings
> > > those things that makes life life
> > > HE LISTENED
> >
> > > THE END