What is Value

It is unfortunate that stupidity is painless. A raw emotion, a protection of the ego that is absorbed by the general public. It is not only one group that remains ignorant and those seeds were placed long ago. Setting standards does limit stupidity and promotes healthier group objections towards a group or individuals but also limits the freedoms of that group or individuals. Simply, you can be as stupid as you want in America. You can be dumb all day and in some interactions it is encouraged. There must be a brick wall or a huge hole to end one’s journey towards higher levels of stupidity. Nope. Our American Exceptionalism hard at work.

Remember when you were little and loved a kid’s show? A toy maker would throw in 15 minutes of commercials selling a toy version of the main characters for every half hour cartoon. There was always one kid that had the toy first and that first Christmas a half a dozen more. The toy went on adventures through the neighborhood back when kids played outside. Our imagination gave us a way of looking at adult conflicts without the negative feedbacks that might occur from such conflicts. A flying hero toy might be thrown over the house to fight the bad guy in the backyard. He might be buried under a tree fighting “in a cave”. Any episode immediately followed up with an outdoor adventure recreating the episode.

It wasn’t stupid. It was IMAGINATION.

Now. Though, it is stupid. Loyalty to a show does not promote the outward expression of physical adventure. It’s monetized the viewer into a single expression of how many times they saw a show. The value of the viewer and the show itself has diminished to a single transaction that benefits the show. The longer I sit consuming a show the more the show benefits through the pay per view system new media has created. Every episode played is an advertisement viewed and wealth to the network and the show creator at the expense of the child viewer. In the extreme, the child is now fatter and filled with heroic nonsense that hasn’t been adjusted to their abilities. A chance arises to overlay this heroic notion and someone dies.

We’re back to stupidity and the value of American Exceptionalism. The blamelessness of certain media on obesity and shaping this atmosphere of just using everyone for a few pennies a viewing. Which was the price one paid a hundred years ago at Nickelodeons lining the sidewalks. There was no advertisers pushing products on children. Pushing every way to market a brand over a social responsibility to limit stupidity. In another example, a punk rocker wrote a song promoting violence towards women, it was popular. It wasn’t until he saw a dozen young men in the audience screaming every word that he realized the impact of his creation. He stopped performing it live but didn’t own the song so it remained a hit for a while. Maybe the young men would never act on the violent themes of the song towards women. They wouldn’t be emboldened by the lyrics and merely used the music like we did as children with our toys. To act out certain aggressions in an imagined setting that’s safe from repercussions. It did spook the artist enough to want to destroy his creation for good. Other rock artists have defended the limitations for decency on their art as a threat to their freedom of speech. Sure, there is some irony that an artist’s free speech is at the expense of a fan’s free expression of that speech. The value, comes at the devaluing of social norms. Raising or lowering the artificial bar of what we have valued as a group.

We think of stupidity as a group or individuals but all roads connect to stupidity at some point. The natural progression of an emotion becoming an action.

We don’t value what we think we value. To be stupid, is universal and an interesting concept. Emotionless and also full of expressing all ranges of one’s emotions. I still don’t have a TV. I still don’t have a DVR but, that doesn’t stop the ads or the emphasis on certain ideas through media becoming slang. Used as self expression, and a part of one’s identity. Ever notice, there’s no bad guy comic book movies? Where’s the “justice” in the Justice League? How am I to “marvel” at Marvel? Has that polarizing kind of storytelling shaped our beliefs in common culture? I don’t believe there’s anyway it wouldn’t because it’s more than storytelling. It’s what we value.

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What is Death

I’m not going to tell you to eat healthy, it’s not my place we are friends. Eat a burger. Get a heart attack. Die, your local mortician needs the work. He can lay you out in this metal table like many you’ve sat on while doctors have shoved their fingers in your groin. Talking about other things than the doctors fingers in your groin. Like, baseball. Somehow, it makes more sense to love something you know nothing about at that moment. You go along with it while he rolls your testicles between his fingers like he’s about to shoot dice. You didn’t know your testicles did that. You should attempt it after. You make a mental note you’ll probably forget until your next shower. He tells you he goes to minor leagues because the pros are too, something. Proud! So much machismo. He makes gestures with his free hand then scratches his head realizing that was not his free hand. Oh well. What’s a little testicle sweat between friends. He wiped his forehead with the back of his forearm and then complained about the last six testicles that came in. Three men not six if, your counting.

After your heart attack from your love of cow products you lay much like past cows. With respect for your face. As, everything else can be sorted out in your favorite suit. It may have been the one she told you to take off. She just knows everything doesn’t she. She called the mortuary three times this morning and ended with she’s “high maintenance.” We know, trust us we know. The suit lays against the wall on a hook and covered in plastic. Never know how far blood flies until you find it on some starched white shirts. A tie is only so conspicuous. A nice vest even though she’ll remind you he never wore such a thing in his life. It’s hideous! As you cut the stitches from the coroner’s shoddy hands on your chest. We know, trust us we know hideous. You die. You aren’t laid to rest. You are poked and sucked, binged and purged, and smoothed out again. Far from rest.

The first dead person you always remember. I was five. The first dead person you don’t know. Shot or stabbed, I forget. Left next to a city trash can in an alley. He smelled. I can smell it now as I write this. This smell comes like the thief of souls. This harbinger. The one we fear in our childlike state at the end, of everything. It feels unfair, I know. That you shouldn’t live forever and get everything you want when children halfway across the world live with nothing. You grabbed my hand after I said that. You stared at me with the anger of a much younger man. The tantrum is all we are left with to defend our tired body as the dark blooms. Flowering once for each of us on its own time. Never rush flowers. They are, stubborn creatures.

Your hand moves slightly as the cold fats are passed back into your empty chest cavity. Sometimes, they come with organs and sometimes you find some to put back in. Otherwise, a suit doesn’t fit right like an old couch at your pothead friend’s house. He says he’s not ready so you sit and the couch slowly eats you, whole. The chest cavity. The midsection. The judgement zones of our society dead or, alive. You used to get away with pinning clothes just so, that no one noticed. Until it became necessary to be dead like you once were alive for that last moment. The last moment you were never really there for but, “you would’ve wanted it this way.”

I keep a certain amount of cash on me and a note for the coroner. Put me in the oven on crisp. Not ‘al dente’, cannibals.

The vast amounts spent on the afterlife have always been there. A sense of comfort to, what a person was in a past time. Maybe, he was a jerk? They all need comfort. A tube is inserted in this or that hole it keeps the skin less like a store bought chickens. The body was once an organism running complex chemistry through organic tissues. Constantly rebuilding, then in death it must somehow be washed away. All the years of heavy drinking and fun times. Of, accidents or near misses. Reckless tattoos. In death, you become a saint. A man sits in the corner next to an egg timer eating a sub and behind him someone’s burning in the oven. Humble in life as we are in death the divide of our culture.

I throw something at him and the chess pieces fall the ground. We’ve always played chess at lunch. Speed chess until the egg timer dings. Then, the button nearby is pressed maybe like someone does on Thanksgiving. The racks cool and a vent opens to piss off the neighbors. The smell returns, she’ll come and say her dog is allergic. She doesn’t know most pets eat their parents after they’ve died. They don’t mind the smell. A knew take on Matricide.

I stood there. Wondering what all this body to get here on this metal table. Without the obvious. Not what he left behind because neither of us care about those things in this moment. This moment of clarity. He’s washed several times. The rinsing is good for the skin. It helps with the leaks. There is commitment to honor the dead. There’s also a transaction in an emotional state. A buying and upgrading. As polished as a wedding or a love of this other thing. This unknown state we all must face. With a sense of regret of not seeing another sunset in a world that is preoccupied with not seeing at all. You’re not supposed to be sentimental when preparing the dead. You’re not supposed to wonder what they’ve done to receive this much attention.

It is where my mind goes most often. To the cracks in the pavement because that’s where its interesting. We suffer through so much in life and in death we must be revealed again in the absence of all this suffering. It seems, backwards. I remembered a widow that had so much life and then just sat silent rocking at the window. I put my hand on her shoulder and she reached across to a table. It had a biscuit with an egg baked inside it. She said nothing and just handed it to me like she’d do when I finished a visit with her husband. A kind of thank you. You’re single, and probably can’t cook she knew me quite well.

What is Fate

The tool we use to explain the failed expectations in our lives. That wondrous idea that you have no control of your life only countered by propaganda that you could be anything. Which one is it then? Which role am I to play slave or master of my fate? At the end of my life would I know the difference? Trying for one seems to produce the other.

I could buy a brand and assume a lifestyle until a bank ends it quickly for non-payment. My fate, so imagined is now the bank’s along with portions of my pay. To keep my pay though will never be enough to create the lifestyle. So, the dilemma exists to leave fate farther down and live the life you want. This borrowed fate, the dream. Ending, when it ends. Mastering nothing. Remember what life was like for the working class without credit? Those in power just increased taxes on everything. Even our government, pulls at our fates in the name of our well being. May as well choose a master before one is chosen for me.

Or, am I born to the lowest class near homeless. Without avenue or a rich family to provide for me. Am I to sit, under overpasses counting the drops of rain that mix with road grime as my only company. The blanket that covers me freezes overnight. To wonder, what steak tastes like? If ice cream makes you as happy as the billboards on the freeway say? To sit at libraries, trying to stay awake in the comfort of a decent chair and heat. I was born. That’s my first problem. If I were to believe there was a heaven I may have came from why would I exist, here? Why not sing songs and float on clouds all day? Eat candy and never get fillings. Not search the public trash cans for metals to sell. Filling a shopping cart to its brim and moving slowly across town to recycle them. Maybe, this is heaven and fluffy clouds and harps are hellish. You never see minorities in religious art. Maybe that’s their heaven and this is their hell. I was born. That’s their first problem.

Fate is a device, that’s all. A way to calm the fears of not having control of one’s life. Like a crying baby pissed off over an afternoon nap. The loving arms place the baby down. The door closes. The nap is not the fate of the baby it is the mother’s power the baby fears. We fear, before we love our fates. However dreadful they are in their extremes. My business, relies on a strong Wall Street market. When, Wall Street goes into recession I’ll lose my business. I can cry like a baby but I can’t just wake up from a nap and it will be fixed. Those in charge, have taken enough out of the game to sustain themselves for several lifetimes.

It is fate, that I don’t have a bigger stake in world economies. When we say one was meant to be something we omit the obvious reasons the are, something. If you’re almost seven feet tall why are you not playing basketball? If you’re the size of a small child why are you not a horse jockey? When you are born intelligent it is not the same. Somehow, this is not a physical attribute and also, it is. Wealthier families only claim their children are of higher intellect never, a little slow. Buying degrees for them. Buying opportunity. That, also might be fate. Had they been poor and stripped of all these wonderful things they would have died. That, is fate as well.

We are grouped and pushed into boxes and labeled like other commodities. A high risk group is never pushed or sorted because they are self insured. That their fate is secured under any duress they themselves cause. Meanwhile, the rest of the world is left to wonder what that might be like. Using the media as a faint whisper into that inner circle. Tempting fate with the fate others. Oh. That’s what steak tastes like. That’s what having a full wardrobe looks like. If I buy your brand you’ll whisper something great in a week. Great but, for who? Will we share fates? Unlikely. I am to remember my fate while supporting yours. Somehow, the gaps are where we can intermingle.

Where the celebrity falls for the dishwasher. Where the entrepreneur meets his exchange student. Imagine, having to remove yourself from fate that was handed to you since birth? This, strange new fruit. Maybe, that’s why so much time is spent on the fate of others to ensure that they will always, just be. Like the loving arms around an infant laid to rest and a door shut silently for their afternoon nap.

What is Truth

In Singapore, an artist told me I was honest to the bone. I stood there for a second as if I had grown roots. What did I do to receive such a compliment? What words in my repertoire can reciprocate? I smiled as she kissed my furry cheek. We collect enough truths we become honest. Is it that easy? Some subtle change, a discharge? Like what many have said of alcohol, the truth serum. Is truth that intoxicating small demon. Requiring us to invoke it’s presence only under circumstance. Making every bar a temple for an oracle and every keeper a kind of shaman? A demon bringer. Casting the truth that we once carried hidden deep within, to the light. Does the keeper exorcise these truths or do we just consume them again like an ouroborus? Truth coming to us only in our cycles of self denial. Honesty is different than truth a closing of these loops within and, moving on.

The space of our souls is a murky place with damp floors of strangeness. We don’t see in there we only exist. A mirror looking at its reflection. I want to say I know my strangeness. I know the layers of my soul. The imprint of my own steps but I do not see that well. Just as weak as anyone and just as vulnerable to my own entrapments. Slowly selling away pieces of myself for the enjoyments of this selfish body among the selfishness of others. We exist like salmon during spawning quiet pursuits and near misses of pushing each other down. The life sized pursuit of a sperm chasing a stationary egg. My pursuit is exactly the same as yours but we are to agree mine is more, somehow. My religion, a symbol of goodness as superiority to whatever yours may be. I don’t have to know anything about it just that’s it’s not mine so it’s wrong. Attaching the ills, the sickness of our society on you and whatever you do. Me? I’m blameless. Rosy cheeked. The cherub of salmon with Jesus on my necklace. All this, crime and pollution is your fault because God only comes to the prosperous. God loves Wall Street and my retirement so says the prosperity doctrine. Take out a dollar, let us pray to it while we swim.

The truth as non believers. As per Youtube or a funny meme. Jesus saves, you money on car insurance. Jesus is the answer to what question? Where is the bathroom? Jesus. Hey I’m trying to find—. Jesus. No? See religious philosophy as the highest truth but it is a truth among many. The soul? A box among many. Dusty and drab it may never fit in. It is the box that never fits on the shelf. The non-conforming mass you’ll place behind your clothes in the closet that still leaves a lump. Is that a body?

“Oh. That? Ha ha. It’s my soul, Goodwill wouldn’t take it.”

I make amends and take my soul out of the closet. Dust off the crime and pollution and pestilence. Whatever that street preacher called me while sipping a drink shaped liked a football on the Vegas strip. Sinner or maybe that’s, “simmer”. Scrawled in Sharpie across the sides. I reused the box after a recent move. No wonder I don’t leave it out for company. It doesn’t stink or anything it’s just this odd thing I’ve always held onto.

“Oh that’s just my soul. Yeah. No one wanted it I was gonna. Build a maze for my ferret. Then, my ferret ran away…”

To live with a religion is to abide to standards that are not as progressive as living without one. Merely to live, is a success story but still we need the race to push our progress something to measure our success against “success.” Whatever it means to a generation. Whatever, the measure of a generation. Is it like the zodiac? I’m in a waning of the Millennial cusp but compatible with Boomers on holidays. I guess, I’m not that progressive and haven’t taken to bingeing everything and smoking pot all day. Hiding somewhere and calling everything lame. Is that still a thing? Was that a Generation X thing? Even progress in society is only measured by artifices of past generations. The Greatest Generation, built all the highways and the Hippies went road tripping to protests and hated Vietnam. Not sure, that they knew the men who built their roads also fought the wars they stand to protest, and also took the blame when they arrived back, and probably went back to building roads for protestors.

Maybe you don’t need alcohol to be in total denial.

You just need one group that wants progress measured differently against the progress of chances society has already took. Like, looking at my report card in school and asking all my teachers to reconsider based on social contributions I’ve made. I was, after all a janitor cleaning one stall at a time. Only my Art teacher bumped my grade after this conversation. HE, appreciated a clean toilet.

When did religion consider itself the untried standard of humanity? Not all religions. Some quiet and considerate of others. While few speak for the good of humanity while pursuing in every step. Like, magicians weaving great tapestries of lies. Feeling not the least bit of empathy toward a beggar urinating on their church lawn. Maybe, the beggar believed once. Maybe, because the local news isn’t there with a bombshell just out of college doing a puff piece. The loss of empathy consumes a community. The single truth, the strand of decency as fine as human hair is left under the tires of the preacher’s new Cadillac.

The furry cheek kisser shook me awake. Must have, been daydreaming.

What Is Future

Ah. Just breathe in the gentrification. You look around and everything is so brand new and there’s no homeless to be seen for miles. A fresh coat of organic paint is sprayed on every surface. There’s no microbes. Everyone is only 1% genetically different. You walk into a store. Wait. Your city doesn’t have stores anymore. There’s online shopping only and augmented reality everywhere. No need for glasses, advertisements will still be invasive and annoying. Everyone sits in their cars and idles, it’s still too hot outside. The factories gave us consumption and the last 200 years gave us no climate. It’s in the future, abouts…a century. A decade and two centuries.

I’ve been wondering. Looking at our present and the presents of past civilizations. When they reached a point of supply satisfying demand and just then key figures get spooked. A culling of the population. Cull is to reduce a population. From Latin Colligere, Coll meaning a severed head and gero is to carry. Rome, a past civilization peaked just before the Bible. War. Ensured not the defeat of the nation but the slow progression of certain individuals to maturity. War and it’s soldiers work like white blood cells protecting the body. This body, is the leaders of a civilization. They received this assurance that no matter the damage done by conflict, they survived.

Think about that. You do all this work your whole life and a war removes your DNA. Maybe the DNA of your nearest descendents cleanly off the planet.

While reading, I thought about how many times we’ve probably done this. Its more than Cain killing Abel in the Bible. For as long there have been humanlike creatures there has been war. We may have survived beyond the Neanderthals not because we were better. We were, just meaner. They were competition.

Before we had the technology to sustain a city with clean water and food. We, as people would travel by any means to food and water. Its in us to make these trips for food still. A hunger, and we are sent scampering to a line of something. Maybe not as plentiful as a group of villagers killing a beast with spears. We settled, for money dividing resources among us to those who could afford it. Better nutrition for our core of society, the protected higher classes. Okay food, for the majority to sustain themselves in support of the society’s core group.

Our society. Our world is not much different than previous ones lost to vines in the wilderness or covered by tons of sand. We like to think civilization is civilized. Until, we learn the mechanics of the social machine. Not the inequalities, these are where most of us are hung up. The protests and the rallies for fairer treatment. When missing the point, you were not meant to continue.

Not for lack of trying. We certainly, fill our spaces digitally and otherwise with positive and uplifting quotes that someday, progress. Goals will be achieved. Great. Keep doing that. Just, realize we are balanced on this same tightrope nearly 8 billion in the world. Is it possible, that a quick snip, a culling. Life changes dramatically for many. The cores, of society worldwide remain unchanged.

We don’t work towards goals benefitting mankind. Unless, the most lofty of us returned from space matter. How long until we catch three buses to a spaceport and pay the upcharge to fly to the moon? Like one might do in any major city with public transportation and a subway or rail. I just, don’t see it as an investment for mankind as much as an escape for specific groups. Maybe, just escapism for the male ego and its constant need for procreation. Sowing oats where no man has gone.

What would that look like if we stopped dreaming? If we realized the world was really an unkind place and your work only benefits those above you. What would that look like worldwide? We are living but most of us are not we are machines tied to machines released for the day and tethered to machines. These machines. Tell us what other people thought while taking a machine. While seeing a machine perform a task. We rate an experience. We give digital tokens that mean nothing in reality but, are the lifeblood for some. The leaders of machines that can now predict who wins elections. If you’re a homosexual. You’re attractiveness in society and chances at mating.

This. Right now, is what it looks like when we stopped dreaming. This unkind place, that grew from our desires. Greed. Unsustainable. It festered and grew like a tumor eating healthy tissue. Our positive social progress, like tumors do in the body. It ate the dreams of many people that no one will remember. They were not that important. They didn’t win the birth lottery.

Is that sustainable? A culling. Of people without dreams or direction that may have only the meagerness of mimicking a machine. Doing laps in a facility for boxes. For some online shoppers. For something weekly they might trade for another box to stay out of the rain. They might dream what that might be like to buy whatever they wanted. They didn’t win the birth lottery.

When I look at past communities it is not why did they leave. Think about that. You already know.

Reverse Catfish

(Ohio Pond)

There’s a saying that prostitution is the oldest profession, I disagree. Maybe. A cult leader. Those temples don’t just, build themselves. I did the American marriage thing and became one of the divorce statistics of 52% of marriages, fail. Even higher for different professions like the military. I would argue war and the industry surrounding it would be the oldest profession. We were hurling rocks and throwing spears at each other long before we paid for sex. Women, also didn’t have rights back then and we treated as property. Spoils of war. For as long as there’s been war, there’s been seized property (women), and the sale of the property. War, sex and enslavement all kind of originate at the beginnings of our society. Ships of our earliest settlers included single young women that were auctioned to the wealthiest in the colonies. We had prostitution in America even before our constitution but still not before war.

As I get older, prostitutes approach me more often. I think to myself, when did I get this old? Am I really that ugly? Desperate? Lonely? Hm.

There were prostitutes at most casinos I’ve been too. I started working at casinos very young. I could spot them in a crowd. In a way it’s not hard, early twenties in a crowd of old farts. C’mon. What are you doing here at 3 am? You know. Well, those with money have more sex. Unfortunately, even marriage is a kind of transaction. The etymology of wife and husband is owned and owner.

I’m not saying marriage is a scam but, what does love have to do with it? A wedding dress for a few thousand. Wedding ring a few thousand. A reception for a few thousand. Honeymoon for a few thousand more. A year’s party to be with someone forever. Oh, and you keep paying them if you love them.

Or, you could rent a woman. I’m sure you’ve saw those oddly matched couples. How did he do that? Well, you know everyone has a price. I remember my first interaction with prostitutes. I was 17 and I had no idea. I thought she was into me not until we talked on the phone and she said she was $400 a night. $600 in today’s money. Being 17, you asked dumb questions like:

What. Whatwhatwhat. Uh. What’s 400?

She was incredibly beautiful and had a really fast car. I thought about it. Tried to talk myself into it. When we met she was 19 and on the phone she was 27? Every relationship I have starts with lies. I never could talk myself into paying for sex. I don’t think sex was my end goal. Seems strange, I wanted that closeness. I guess that’s love. I’d see her and her coworkers at the casino and tell them to take off. We were a respectable place only one old man was stabbed in the parking lot in the all the time I worked there. He won a huge jackpot and didn’t want the complimentary hotel room. Someone lied and lured him outside and that was the last time we saw him alive. I thought she might have known about it. She had a way to get a man’s attention. It was bad for business, jackpot winners getting stabbed in parking lots.

I saw her once after my divorce. We were older but she was still beautiful. She took me hiking and yoga-ing. We never talked about the old man. Her car was slower and her dogs were bigger. She now shuffled between a few executives and its all online. Seems. Legit. She pays taxes. She still had a thing for me but not enough for her new rate. She, graduated into this industry that welcomed all her skills like a craftsman in an old world. Her clients became jealous. I changed my number. Money, its all about money when talking about sex.

I was picking up an old car in Florida last week. It was near a very nice neighborhood. A few things fell apart so I used the light on my phone to make some repairs down this dark street. I was a couple hours into this repair when a nice car pulled up.

“Hey honey think we could help you out if you help us out?”

Early twenties. Blonde and brunette. In a car neither looked like they worked a legit job to afford. I’m covered in grease with tools all about under the car. I get up from under the car. We stare at each other like deer that just ran into the road. I’m older now. Much older. They still come by in their twenties. Asking for money. Get a job, I’d like to say. Get a really good one that sucks all the life out of you. Instead of, chasing old men for a few bucks.

Self Defense & The Second Amendment

One highly repeated conservative belief is the second amendment entitlement to have a gun also includes a right to defend yourself up to death. For conservatives, that’s a very liberal view of the second amendment. Let’s look at it for a second.

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

Historically is probably it’s most literal sense that being. We the people, didn’t have an army to protect settlements so regular citizens “organized militias” to protect colonies. So. You had to be in the militia to bear arms. This contradicts the conservative view and the Individual Rights Theory and any NRA brainwashing. Individual rights theory focuses only on the wording “the right of the people to keep and bear arms.” Somehow this also translates into self defense for conservatives as bearing arms in it’s meaning only implies the carrying of a weapon. So, can we have our cake and eat it too? I carry my gun and can defend myself via the Second Amendment only? The Second Amendment let’s me get all Call of Duty on anybody as long as their bad guys.

Well…no.

How about the third it’s specific to military? That’s where we get Call of Duty on bad guys.

Nope.

This is where we go down the rabbit hole.

We were once a part of England. Just, nod your head if you don’t remember. We had an angry King that had the power to amass an Army for whatever he wanted. We didn’t want that for our new America. Like, ever. So. Congress had the power to create Armies, not militias. Congress, could go to war. Congress, could regulate the hell out of the military. They like to do that. Its within their power.

So. We know we as citizens have a right to keep arms, carry arms, but not in defense per the Second Amendment. Not, even under Article I and the clauses that create our acts of war and the military does it project a right to kill anyone.

So. Where do we get to assert this conservative belief and go Call of Duty on people in self defense?

The court shaped the types of weapons we can possess overturning a ban on handguns in DC for instance. It was deemed unconstitutional because it was a violation of the Second Amendment but like Judge Kavanaugh pointed out previous, the framers didn’t include assault weapons so they must be legal, also. True, but with that logic a ban could be considered on modern weapons because the framers didn’t mention those also.

We’re still getting there. So states have a lot of say on the limitations of the Second Amendment but cannot remove that Constitutional power. We, as citizens have a right to carry weapons only. Even in the military. Military personnel do not have a duty to fire a weapon. It is a special duty assigned to specific and qualified personnel. So. Even the guys that are living the Call of Duty life cannot spray rounds at whoever.

Almost there. The Supreme court has separately understood the Second Amendment as a possession of a firearm and not a self defense Amendment. The courts have defined the portion of a kind of self defense in the Constitution under our inalienable rights. States have created similar wording in their state Constitutions. Protection of property though hard to acquire, does not allow for Call of Duty on an intruder or petty theft. Think about that for a second. Someone could steal up to $1000 dollars from you its a misdemeanor and nowhere does it say it “scope up and pull the trigger.” A public fight is a misdemeanor, still not able to shoot. Which is why police fire tear gas in protest crowds. Entering a home that’s not yours is a misdemeanor. Common law says you could shoot him but Common law also says you could beat your wife with a stick smaller than your thumb. So. No, you still can’t shoot him for a misdemeanor. It is not until he’s committed a felony in your home AFTER the break-in and you are fearful of your life. Such as an assault to you or any inhabitants but, it is not a law it is a defense for yourself after you broke the law.

Shooting someone is not legal, ever. You are limited to a specific circumstance with a single defense. I think, conservatives and gun enthusiasts want the gusto of power over others but miss the limitations of carrying a gun. The liability and the way the laws are defended in court are not for the gun owner. Which is good. Buying a gun doesn’t immediately qualify you to take someone’s life.