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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Normality of Rage
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Rage. There's such an ineffable ambivalence about rage... It's almost as
alluring as it is repulsive... Or perhaps that's just me? I don't know...
Most of the time, I feel like it's only natural for a human being to
spend most of their life in an outraged despair feeling like a drowning,
trapped sewer rat, but...well, but most people who I talk to seem to
think otherwise. What is normal? If that's not it, then I don't know what
it is. I can't imagine going through life without a complete
hopeless-panic hybrid stepping in at regular intervals to make everything
uncomfortable and dissatisfying. I'm not trying to procure any solace,
and I'm not trying to jerk any tears (there are better stories for that
than any that I have anyway)... I'm just telling it like it is. I really
can't imagine that anyone goes through their life looking forward to the
new day for any other reason than that it marks the end of the past day.
Is that normal? I don't know. I really don't know anymore, and I don't
think I ever did...
I often feel so inundated with rage and contempt that I just want someone
to start a fight with me - mind you, I've never been in a fight before -
just so that I could beat the shit out of something. In fact, half of my
daydreams are of people pulling me away from a bloodied and disheveled
asshole on the ground so that I don't kill him. Why the other people to
pull me away? I think that some foresight-bearing vestige of my mind
knows that I wouldn't want murder or manslaughter charges, and I would
NOT want to end up in a mental institution for life, but...well, I often
wonder if I wouldn't kill someone outright if I got the chance. I'm not
sure that I could stop myself once it started.
That's not to say serial killings or premeditation of any vast,
convoluted plots to make incisive blows against selected people, but
more...well, more of just a "crime of passion" thing. I'm not sure that
once I let the hate pour out, that it could stop until I quenched my
thirst for blood. Sometimes, I just want to bite into another's flesh and
tear chunks out with my teeth. I guess I almost feel like that would
satisfy the rage better; that it'd be a more effective floodgate to let
some of the pressure out. Or maybe it's just the ancient, hand-me-down
animal blood trying to remind me how it always worked before it got
trapped inside these ridiculous, ostentatious bipeds who try most
moronically to solve their disputes with blue uniforms and other bipeds
behind large desks who have hammers used not to smash the offenders, but
to sound off on their desk so inefficaciously. Not to be trite or banal,
but...perhaps it's the "Call of the Wild", trying to tell me that I
should use my body and just kill, rather than relying on any human
weapons, either direct or indirect. Or maybe I just feel that I could
clench my teeth much better than my fists around a throat; that it could
be much more effectively destructive than any punches, pushes or kicks
that I could throw at my foe...
It's an odd balance... I both can understand and see the pain for any one
person, and want to reach out to them with hands that I don't have; hands
that would alleviate all that's wrong in their life - and then, I want to
kill most people, and find a scapegoat to take the place of those whom I
could never kill... I'm not so sure I could kill anyone. But if someone
riled me enough....I just don't know what would happen. It could be...it
could be bad. I dunno, I guess I'll see....
I dunno, whatever. I mean, it's just kinda been there, and it'll probably
remain. And that's okay, 'cuz this is normal............isn't it?
- agrajag
http://www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Club/1610/Dep.html
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