My Wand'ring Bark: Mindless Monday

The title of the post was chosen before news broke of the horrific terrorism at the Boston Marathon.
On reflection, it seemed apt.
This post may contain some Henley-isms. If you're not into that, or if you have a Henley allergy - you might wanna bail now.
Prior to the Boston tragedy, this morning's chatter revealed that Justin Bieber hoped that had Anne Frank been alive, she would've been a fan, and so inscribed the guest book in the Anne Frank museum.
Henley, 'quoting' Lucifer in The Garden Of Allah:

And I said, 'Gentleman....and I use that word loosely...

I'm a gun for hire, I'm a saint, I'm a liar
Because there are no facts, there is no truth
Just a data to be manipulated.
I can get any result you like -
What's it worth to ya?
Because there is no wrong, there is no right
And I sleep very well at night.
No shame, no solution
No remorse, no retribution
Just people selling T-shirts
Just opportunity to participate in the pathetic little circus
And winning, winning, winning.¹

In the preceding passage, the Devil is a lawyer. Isn't that type-casting?
Elsewhere today I read where my body double, Corbin Bernsen (perhaps I embellish ~~a little~~ a lot), says he'd rather talk about God than Lindsay Lohan. You and me both, brother!

Would that we could somehow wean ourselves from endless fascination with celebrities. Also from The Garden... but from the narrator's voice:

This year, notoriety got all confused with fame

And the devil is downhearted

Because there's nothing left for him to claim .¹

At the time the song was written, Henley was [likely] referencing the Orenthal James trial circus, but the concept, and the song, remain/s [the same].
I watched the CBS Evening News earlier, then left the TV on in the den. Now it's playing Two Broke Girls, a non-stop celebration of trash talk one-liners. I've never had one, so maybe I lack perspective, but I can't imagine STDs really being that amusing.
My oldest son texted me this afternoon: "What's up with everyone blowing *stuff* up?"
I don't know. Nobody knows.

And the fruit is rotten

The serpent's eyes shine

As he wraps around the vine

In the Garden of Allah. ¹

Whether your kids are all grown up or still in diapers, you'd like to be able to tell them everything will be alright, even though it's been a jacked-up world since Genesis 3 (the Bible chapter, not Banks/Collins/Rutherford's band).
From They're Not Here, They're Not Coming (where 'they're' refers to aliens), excerpts:

To this Garden we were given
And always took for granted
Well it's like my Daddy told me -
You just bloom where you're planted.
Now you long to be delivered
From this world of pain and strife
That's a sorry substitution for a spiritual life.
...
No authenticity, no sign of soul
The radio won't play George and Merle.
...
They're not here, they're not coming
Not in a million years
'Til we put away our hatred
And lay aside our fears
You may see the heavens flashing
You may hear the cosmos humming
But I promise you, my brother
They're not here, they're not coming.²

I can't say I've never Ducked my Destiny in the past, but I'm trying to be mindful of Job, to remember whence all good gifts come:

Now the trouble with you and me, my friend
Is the trouble with this nation
Too many blessings, too little appreciation.
And I know that kind of notion - well, it just ain't cool
So send me back to Sunday school.
Because I'm tired of waiting for reason to arrive.
It's too long we've been living
These unexamined lives. ³

Daughter and I put a birdhouse the boys built years ago in Scouts on a t-post a couple of months back - she furnished it with leaves and grass to make it all homey and stuff.
Hopefully the cat's not in this cradle: