I remember when my family moved up here to Zone 5b, in the summer of 68. And while we were on the road, RFK was shot, and when we arrived in our new house, I watched RFK's funeral train make its way down the East Coast. The TV was black and white, and I was just in high school, so that was a long time ago.

On Democratic Underground, I posted that excellent MyDD piece by an Obama supporter who was repulsed by this weekend's assassination-gate lek.

These are your fellow Democrats, folks.

The Bad Magician is two months shy of his tenth birthday. He is in a kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. Bobby Kennedy lies on the floor, bleeding, dying; the kitchen lights are dark stars and the floor is the bottom of the night. One almost got through, almost touched The Everything, but the Universe was having none of it.

The Bad Magician sits for thirty-eight years in that kitchen. Everything that followed led ineluctably to the shattering of forms.