He’s an isolated lunatic,
A sorry, troubled soul;
Just a mild-mannered, quiet sort
Who simply lost control

He’s a victim of the media–
We must not rush to judge!
There’s nothing here systemically,
Just one man with a grudge.

Did I say “man”? He’s just a kid!
Just twenty one brief years!
He can’t be bad; can’t blame a child
Still wet behind the ears!

Or maybe it’s anxiety,
Or maybe it was drugs
Or maybe it was something else;
He isn’t like those… thugs!
.
.
.
There’s something that America
Is gonna have to face:
This Dylann? He’s a terrorist.
His motive? It was race.

There are better places than here to read about, and talk about, Charleston. Like Ashley F. Miller’s place. Or Stephanie Zvan’s. Or Aron and Lilandra’s. Or P-Zed’s. Here, you’re likely to get incoherent sobbing.

Here, you’ll get one piece of advice, which I should probably have given long ago, but which I have found increasingly worthwhile as the months have passed: If you are on Twitter, and do not already follow a significant representation of Black Twitter, you need to. And read. A lot. And shut up and listen. A lot.