bombilation

There is a lot of static in the world.  The drone or buzz of contention in the air.  A steady hum in your ears if you're like me.  You can hear it if you stop to listen.  It's there, whether soft or loud, in the electric wires; in the throb of pulses, the steady march of Time.  In the heat of a moment when everything stands still and some messed-up misguided member of society feels alienated or miserable enough to contemplate something unthinkable, drastic, catastrophic . . . in a vain unconscionable effort to balance chaos.

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