Saudi Justice

We are traveling to Boone, NC next weekend for my aunt's memorial service.  I am surrounded by loss.  It feels like it, those
feelings from high school that are infused with passion for music and love.  They can become oppressive, and that is when you learn to turn them off.  They can pull you right into the grave.  You need to feel what you feel, and much of that is what is around you. When it becomes detrimental, you have to push your head up out of the sand and follow your own path.  It is not chosen with you feelings.  Feelings have nothing to do with it.  It has been four days of music and feeling and grief and sorrow.  I have enjoyed the music, but it is laced with melancholy.  My father has passed, and we miss his music.  That is of what it reminds us, at least my mother.  I am a child again being whisked around to her functions.  I benefit from them, but is exposes an insurmountable scenario.  She wants me to be caught up in the rapture of the local music scene again.  I don't want it.  When I lived in this house, I was not yet a proficient trumpeter.  The dynamics of this home, while it is comfortable in which to live, is not ideal for the practicing of trumpet.  Throughout college I suffered from this, bad acoustics for trumpet.  The practice rooms in Hill Hall were cinder block and tile.  The acoustics were not good.  My ears are to sensitive for bad sounds.  Bad acoustics are created by the machine, and once again I am going to rage against the machine.  The Marines.  Whence it comes I do not know.  The military's  targeting system.  Those expensive war helicopters.  Underground ammo dumps and loading terminals.  The son-of-a-bitch CSX-T engineer who spends our entire weekend putting around in his two stroke turbo charged AC traction equipped locomotive blowing the most menacing sounding and depressing horn.  All weekend, back and forth and all around "Da Ville" this ignorant, hillbilly, Trump supporter destroys the quality of life for the entire city.  He is not regulated.  "CSX-T failed to respond to our phone calls or E-Mails," say the local news networks.  They are beyond regulation, a metaphor for America's trusts which became to powerful and destroyed the lives of native Americans.  Your spread happens to be in the way of the great iron horse, and its gone.  Nothing has changed.   No one can say anything to this redneck, vagabond, shoe.  When your government fails to protect you, local, state, and federal prosecutors are afraid for their livelihoods, and the FRA and EPA are run by Trump goons, what is our public recourse.  When our friends and neighbors continue to die at an accelerated pace, cancer thrives, and diseases from are not so distant past are resurrected in epidemics.  What kind of society are we?  How is justice served?  Ask the Saudies.