Monday, December 12, 2005

For someone who continually preaches the Power of Love, I'm filled with a lot of anger and hate. It's genesis is a mystery to me, crazy childhood, life of pain, rah rah rasputin...I don't particularly understand it, but I know it exists and I know the destructive power it holds.

Maybe it's a yin and yang thing, maybe one cannot exist without the other.

Or maybe, everyone has it in them and like all other facets of my personality, I just wear it on the outside for all to see. Maybe to me anger is a release, like dancing or jerking off.

But the thing is, anger is just far too destructive a force to leave unchecked, and anger without a purpose, blind spiteful rage is just destruction for destruction's sake, or Emotion Gone Wild riding a bus topless around California...or some other weird anology...


A lot of things make me angry, a lot of things trigger my heart into morphing black and molten lava to wash over my soul and paint fire in my eyes and a torrential outpouring of feeling like a monsoon, drenching anyone who stands near me.

Note to self, pack an umbrella, and a good book.

It's easy for people like you and me, literate, reasonably informed citizens to look down our nose at violent mobs with a Cyclops like mentality, one eyed and spite ridden, clubbing all in their path with a fist full of rhetoric, easy for us to tsk tsk over our morning coffee and shake our heads in disgust at the world around us...

But but but...

It's harder for me to face what is inside me. For I too have a black soul sometimes, and I too verbally pummel and blindly rage against false injustice when out of control. I too am guilty of feelings of hopelessness and inequality and fear and sadness and fuck fucking EVERYTHING.

I just tend to be on my own a lot, which makes it a safer world for you. Heh.

It has hurt and frightened and disgusted me, the events that have taken place over the last few days. But in an ironic twist in my own microcosm, it has come at a time when I too must examine feelings of anger within myself and try to understand.

Stupid Mars, planet of rage.

I read a bumper sticker on my walk home this morning. It said, There is no road to peace, peace is the road. And sometimes the Hippies have a point. Rather than look at a goal, a future where things will be different,'s a lot nicer to just make that the NOW.

Nicer but fucking hard.

I know some people who seem so perfect. Beautiful, outgoing, nice, loving, smart, calm CUNTS, heh, I mean people...And I envy them their serenity. But then, so much of me is tied up in blind passion, so much of the good parts of me comes from blind Italian-Irish passion that to seperate myself from any one part of it seems like an impossible amputation.

But watching the riots and the mob and seeing photos of drunk men spitting venomous vitriole...let's just say...I got scared. I got scared that I was capable of looking like that, though driven by different forces.

Anger really frightens me. The anger within me really frightens me. Trust me when I say I have seen more than my fair share of it while growing up, and I am afraid that I may never control it. So I'll write about it, and work on it, and try not to lapse. AGAIN. AGAIN. AGAIN.

Keep breathing. Keep thinking of words and music and art and light and love and the country and food and Love and friends and it's all ok, it's all ok.

And I read in the paper an article about the riots, and the writer was saddened by the look of SURRENDER in those that were being bashed, and he wrote that there is no greater victory over a mob than a look of dignity.

And I think he was right. And I think dignity is the mortal enemy of anger. And I think it is not only a beautiful construct, but it is a beautiful word.


*keeps walking road of fucking life*