Violence

Once upon a time, a woman I loved asked me a hypothetical question. She was sick of my procrastinating way of dealing with things. She was tired of my way of waiting up, seeing what is going down, and most likely not doing anything to really influence the situation, lazy bastard that I am. She said, if you were coming to meet me, and you saw that a man was molesting me, what would you do? I said, I would wait and see… see if you can deal with it alone. So then she asked the next pertinent question: what would you do if he laid a hand on me, got rough?
I wondered if I should really tell her that those are the moments I am glad I don’t carry weapons. I can only hope that there are none to hand, if it should ever come to that. I am, generally speaking, a peaceable person. I don’t want to hurt anybody, I really don’t. But I know myself. I know what puts me in a rage, and I know that the control I have then breaks.
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I told her I would then immediately intervene. That is, as far as it goes, the truth. I didn’t say that I would probably pick up the nearest blunt object and whack it across the back of his head, and then pounce on him and smash my fists in to his face until my knuckles broke. I didn’t tell her that, should a gun be at hand, I might very well simply shoot his fucking brains out, on the spot.
Now you’re probably thinking: what a bullshitter, bragging about what he would do, if. But you don’t get it. I think violence is wrong. I’ve been on both ends of violence, and either way, it basically sucks. I know what others are capable of… been beaten so bad I landed in the hospital. I know what I am capable of, and I like that even less than landing in the hospital. I know I’ve enjoyed being violent, and that’s worse still. The last thing I would brag about is my capability for violence.
Have you ever, like me, woken up one fine morning and wondered where the blood on your knuckles came from? Horrible thought, isn’t it… but worse than the thought is the fact. Memory dawns on you… and you realize that violence is horrible. It’s bad. Though it may even seem necessary at times, it’s still wrong. It’s the last stupid exit you take when you know no other way out, or when you are so drunk that you are reduced to base instincts. Or when the situation is so intolerable that… I don’t want to think about it any more.
It’s those moments, when I am not fucking around anymore, that frighten me for myself. For all of us. I realize then what humans are capable of.
I shouldn’t have written this post. It reminds me of the beast in me, the anger I fight to keep down day for day. The beast that wants to fight and kill. Better to be lazy, and to let things go their way. Just please don’t put me in that position where I see no other way out. Please, brother, don’t force me to it. Cuz’ I ain’t violent, until that moment, dammit, until that very moment…

Sitting at the bar
Not drunk, just drinking
Listening to the music
Thinking how beautiful it is

Loving people, loving life
Loving myself
Teaching myself
How to feel good

Being good natured
Being human

Until that moment

Nobody
Fucked with me
I didn’t want to hit anyone
In the head

Until that moment

That moment
That moment…

Until that very moment
Tshak!*

*Flesh and bone, motherfucker.

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Fight

Don’t give up. You’ve got to fight when you’re cornered. You have no choice, you’ve got nothing to lose… so fight. Most likely, you aren’t in the corner you thought. Maybe you’re not in any corner at all, but rather on the open road. Alone, no cover in sight, the eagle swooping down… Well then, fight. Go down screaming bloody murder if go down you must, but don’t fucking whine. Take it from an incorrigible whiner. Besides, maybe they are not after you in the first place. Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they are after you.
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End of the Rope

Or tether. Ever come to the end of your tether? Life is hell, really, no shit, and you just don’t know how you are going to get through one more minute of it. And you gasp and waver… because it hurts inside. It’s a physical feeling, I know. You feel like a prize-fighter who’s playing the ropes, and you’ve been hit once too often, and you’re not quite sure if you’ll survive the fight. That moment of doubt… and at that moment you get one full in the face. You’d like to lie down and die, but you force yourself to stand. You’ll win yet, you say to yourself.
Thomas Jefferson said, if you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on, but I say: there is always more rope, so cut yourself some slack. Let some more rope out, for Christ’s sake… give yourself some room. Give the poor horse some reign. Go get drunk. Scream. Sob. Go out in the middle of the night, lie down on the sidewalk, and observe the fucking stars. Most likely, no one will even notice it, and if they do, what the hell.
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A while back I got so drunk at a party of distant neighbors that I subsequently, on the way home, threw down one of the big caution signs surrounding the road work on the corner of my street. Four big signs, anchored with huge weights… I had a great old time rocking them back and forth until one cracked to the ground. I cut myself some big time slack there. Do you think anyone noticed or cared?
If anyone did notice they probably said: crazy American, he’s up to no good, as we said he would be when he moved here twenty years ago; and now, just when we though he might fit in after all… never did like the bastard, aye. Ah, well, never mind. Gertrud, bring me another bier, would you? Or something to that effect.
It wasn’t my fault, really… factor one: too many shots of tequila (with salt and slices of lemon, urged on me by the neighbors nice little wife), factor two: my girlfriend at the time (she wasn’t there, but her influence was –the perceptive neighbors wife noticed it, she saw my need– see this entry, factor three: … me. I guess it was my fault after all. But hey, I was just cutting me some slack bro, ya gotta unnerstan’ that.
A society that can’t tolerate you cutting yourself some big time slack when you need it is not a society that is worth living in.
So, you see, the rope has no end. It just keeps on getting worse, haha!