An engineer deliberately ran a train off the tracks at high speed near the Port of Los Angeles in an attempt to crash into the USNS Mercy hospital ship, prosecutors say.
The Pacific Harbor Line train derailed Tuesday, running through the end of the track and crashing through barriers, finally coming to rest about 250 yards from the docked naval ship.
Federal prosecutors allege train engineer Eduardo Moreno, 44, of San Pedro intended to hit the ship, saying he thought it was "suspicious" and did not believe "the ship is what they say it's for.'"
And so it begins. Ten days ago, we noted this at
The Coracle:
Thus far, people are denied socialization at work, school, restaurants, congregations, places of group conviviality, and sporting events. We are social animals and will resist this very soon; possibly in ways forthright and aggressive.
Part of that resistance is the surrender of reason and logic, and the embrace of paranoid conspiracy theories about an "other" who is secretly plotting against you and you alone. Fortunately, you hold the truth and will tell the world, even if the world doesn't want to hear it.
I heard a word once upon a time, during my younger adventures, from a Brazilian woman. [Allow me to pause and recall the halcyon days of youth.] It is not a proper Portuguese word, but from that tongue's slang.
Desocolada. It's a pretty word and the closest it means in English is "un-glueing". I suppose, were I translating it formally, I would say "coming apart", but that's not as poetic, is it? The glue of sensibility begins to lose its hold.
The other day I had to get gas and the pumps were malfunctioning, so I had to go into the convenience store to pay. While waiting for change, the clerk leaned over the counter [hey, physical distancing, lady] and whispered, "He knew about this."
"Who did?"
"You know who."
"Oh, him. He knew the pumps were busted, did he?"
"No, not the pumps. The cortinavirus [sic]. He knew all about it and didn't tell us because he wants some people to die."
"That's diabolical."
"Uh-huh."
So, since I prefer to get gas for the truck in Reality-land, and since I don't want to have to go inside a convenience store to pay in these days of pandemic, I'll bid a fond farewell to this particular station and the clerk who knows the inconvenient truth. However, I fully expect to have more and more conversations like this the more people are constrained by fear of a disease and a capricious government.
