Of Assassins And Metaphysics

News reaches us precisely at the speed of a flying bullet from the rifle of an assassin. So quickly, so flashing, so numerous, that by the time the news reaches us, a barrage of other bullets is already on the way. Whether they pierce armor or flesh or bone, whether they shoot to kill, or greet us as friends- we find little mechanism by which they can be fully deciphered.

I speak in abstract terms, in metaphor, metaphysically, because that is all I have. By now, the assassination (oh, to type that word!) attempt on the former President is old news. I say old news because laughter has returned, he was not seriously injured, and the event is understood to advance him politically. It's old news, nonetheless. 

We have unloaded the debacle quicker than a meal of pure fat and red wine. Unloaded, yes- understood, perhaps not. I stress decipherability and understanding because it is those things that we find we often lack. I am speaking of the times, of course. It is mid-July, 2024. But to speak of the times and for the people barricaded by them is too much. I should only be speaking for myself and see who bites- who goes along with it or who lashes out in disagreement. This is not what I think. It is what I think I think.

Those who believe there was something strange, something off, something odd about the assassination attempt and the events surrounding it are, after all, right. It was oddly surreal and horrifyingly non-surreal- that is to say, familiar and, in some sense, common. One could reference examples in Las Vegas, Memphis, Dallas, Los Angeles, and Washington D.C. almost immediately to see what I mean. 

The assassinations or, in some cases, mass murders from the rooftops, with lone gunmen, and large weaponry, are ingrained quite deeply within us. It is part of our shared history of America. Yes, it is chaotic. Yes, it is violent. We must understand that that is what we are. Or at least, what we have allowed ourselves to become. Those who say there is no room for violence in America are unwittingly comedic. The imagery of the rooftop and gunmen lives within us, so to speak. Again, I write in metaphysical terms. 

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But I should also speak aesthetically. The footage of the event itself, in my opinion, left a rather faint impression. I mean no disrespect to the dead and injured and scarred. At first, I met the footage with the slightest shock, but I was taken by how quickly the shock wore off. How in modern times there is a kind of hypno-reality to it all. Of course, it is real. As real as the chair I am sitting in, the tea that I am drinking. It is real. But also, banal. 

The gunshots rang out like faint snap-pops. The footage in High-Definition quality. Everything crisp, everything clear as a bell. This is, to those who may not know, the opposite of cinema, of film. The angle of the footage would be best related to a stage play. And like a play, there is no film grain, no color correction, no special effects. The footage of Kennedy’s assassination attempt in Dallas is seen in stark contrast. One could simply say this is only a matter of time passed, but I disagree. The footage speaks of the times. The footage in Butler, Pennsylvania speaks to ours. But I digress, perhaps it is still too early for that... 

So locked in daily to our screens, so dependent on the infinite scrolling to take up idle time, and so saturated are our mechanisms for deciphering and understanding information that the modern person functions as a somnambulist inside the stream of endless data. There is little information. We are fed mostly data, talking points, bumper sticker wisdom, and jargon. Yes, we often wonder when the hell society will snap out of it. When will the sleepwalking end? Before we reach the edge of the cliff? 

And so, the sniper will speak in terms of shooting. The politician in terms of political rhetoric. The conspiracy theorist, in terms of conspiracy. And it is no wonder the country of America has been reduced to conspiracy. We speak of simulations, false flags, staged blood, and treasonous inner workings. Not because we simply want to. Because we have to. Because in the grand kabuki theatre of America, and probably in some sense the world, there is nothing to prevent us from doing so. One man’s description of an event is just as good as the next. And if the man is not an expert in this way? All for the better. We trust no experts. They have led us here, we say. 

And even today- I revisit the draft of this essay and the line about news and bullets. So now, the news of the attempted assassination is old news. For there has been another assassination, in a sense. Before we even understand the ramifications of one bullet another political figure has dropped out. Metaphorically, metaphysically assassinated by his own party, his own mental demise- his own failing body. If the equation for comedy is true, that is, tragedy + time, surely everything can be reduced to humor. 

Everything can and will be spoken through the lens of humor. Because we are racing through time faster, it feels, than time itself could allow. One wishes the world would slow down, and let us catch our breath. The modern world cannot escape its own desperation. The desperate need for entertainment. Even when a man is shot, or a man dies, we must read between the lines. We must be honest with ourselves. We are entertained. Don’t bore us! 

What should we do with too much time to think? What should we do if we cease being told what to do, how to think, how to feel about the modern world? What would our politics look like if we were given a chance to catch our breath? The news has become a theatre of commentary, incestual, repetitious, quoting one another ad nauseam. Would modern society be better without so much commentary- live, instantaneous, strategic, endless? 

One party has had their leader struck by a bullet. You can say they have now had their teary-eyed moment. You can say they have a cause more righteous, just, more balkanized than before. You can now say the opposing party has sent off their leader, too. They can have their teary-eyed moment now as well. They will no doubt attempt to use this for similar means as their rivals. But the civil person, the one stuck in the middle of all this can hardly make sense of it all. Distracted, worried, delusional, and bankrupt, he is pleading for some sense. 

All that can be said is that the individual is spiritually half-starved, practically deaf and dumb, out of breath and pleading. That is if the individual has any sense and any honesty. But at the very least, the individual may admit, too, that they are entertained. Perhaps that is even good enough–for now!

Wrong Speak is a free-expression platform that allows varying viewpoints. All views expressed in this article are the author's own.