This is Me

I have a very bad problem with anger. Today I felt like writing about it.

This is Me.

I don't complain because I enjoy complaining, I'm f*****g angry. I hate it. I wake up in a barely controlled rage and on the days when I talk myself out of smoking pot the second I gain consciousness, for my health I guess, the rage is impossible to control. I see, understand? I have to burn a couple bowls to become as complacent as 99% of you people and you know what? Ignorance IS bliss. God it feels so good to know things are fucked and not even mind.

I wish I could feel that way all the time, but I'm already buying the cheapest weed in CT and I'm broke.

The number one reason I don't believe in god isn't logic or reason or science. Those are factors, but they're not the dealbreaker. I just can't buy the idea that anyone's running this freak show. I can't, for my own sanity. It's not enough that the world is a confusing, horrifying, dangerous, cruel, judgemental, disease-ridden jungle of wildly intemperate apes with guns and batons and bombs, driving bigger and bigger personal death machines that burn an irretrievable resource and fill the air with carcinogenic vapor, and I still can't believe I have to wear a CONDOM or I might die and there's people in Japan who've wised up to the fact that I should probably be wearing a gas mask just to TALK to people!

I just can't understand how some of you think this is part of a PLAN. Any plan, let alone the deliberate plan of a just and loving creator god. You've got to be f*****g kidding me. If Al Pacino's plan goes sour, one of his buddies gets gunned down during the heist. ONE. Two or three if it's a depressing movie.

ONE life lost. That's a f*****g tragedy. Unless you're someone like me, you've got friends and family who love you more than you can possibly comprehend. Seriously. If you're lucky enough to have a mom who's nothing like mine and made you sandwiches and sent you to college and cleaned up after you and still wants you around at holidays? You can't even wrap your f*****g MIND around how much that person loves you. You don't get it, and it's an insult to her to say you do. You are the world to someone.

And when you get snuffed out, it destroys them. You're gone forever and they have to persist in the aforementioned horrifying world without you, they have to clean all your stuff out of your room, not because they're going to rent it out, but because for the next five to ten years the smell of your clothes is going to be enough to reduce them to tears, because that's how our f*****g brains work. Our capacity to deal with grief is the same thing that allows us to ignore the fucked up realities spinning all around us, the atrocities committed by people JUST LIKE YOU AND ME every single day- we have to ignore it, forget it. And then when they've healed, they hate themselves for forgetting you. The memory of your eyes destroys them, and forgetting those eyes destroys them again.

One life.

And you can look at this world, these people, the endless, endless mistreatment and war and sickness and cancer and downs syndrome and autism and muscular sclerosis and babies born with another baby head sticking out of their soft spot, you can look at the specter of AIDS looming over the natural act of love, you can watch people fight over a rock in the desert for three thousand f*****g years, and you can say with a straight face that it must be part of a PLAN?

F**k that, f**k you, and f**k everyone who lets that sanctimonious slur pass their lips. It's a f*****g insult the the grand nightmare that is our world.

I can see why you ignore it. I'm jealous of you people, I wish I could too. But I've got a drug test coming up.

*

Nobody likes it when you're angry. "It's not healthy to be so angry", I hear that sometimes. Keep those strong, pure emotions DOWN. If you're still angry, MEDICATE. Take some pills. It can't possibly be that you're depressed because you're that one in a thousand person who actually takes a look at the world and reacts accordingly. You're not gazing into the abyss of human hopelessness, you're not contemplating the futility of tiny crazy monkeys fighting each other on a spinning rock that's whipping through space around a giant sustained nuclear explosion at 22 thousand miles per second, you're not aghast at the reality that your feelings, thoughts, emotions, dreams and hopes, everything you ever were or ever will be is an irrelevant ripple in this temporary convergence of chaos we call "life".

No, you just need to be MEDICATED. These pills will make things make sense, these pills will make it hurt less, these pills will make it easier to cope with the insane realities, it's simple, we just dumb you down till you can't remember why you were so upset yesterday!

Why are you so UPSET all the time?!

Don't smoke weed, though. Don't want to think those thoughts. Don't want experience the wisdom and peace and love that that magical flower can bring to you, side-effect free, nature's gift to all thinking beings. Goddamnit no! You'll see through the bullshit and paper-thin justifications and the next thing you know, you're an unproductive loser! You won't be able to bring yourself to play along with this stacked game we call society, you won't fit in, you won't be able to summon the complacence to pick a news channel and be told who to vote for, as though the d***o painted blue will feel better crammed down your throat than the d***o painted red.

That weed is nasty stuff.

You won't pass your drug test at work! Because your masters need to know that you aren't going home and feeling relaxed and free on your own time- you might come in and tell people, and then THEY'LL try it too, and then THEY'LL be mentally free, and the next thing you know it everyone will realize that they don't need the $500 iTwat made by slaves because the $15 mp3 player next to the candy and magazines at Stop & Shop does the same f*****g thing and has for fifteen years, and then we're out of business!

You won't want to go out to the chain restaurants because it turns out five dollars and a minimal effort is enough to cook up the best food you've ever tasted. You won't want a big flashy car made by miserable pricks in Detroit and expensive, slave-sewn clothes, because you'll realize it's all just consumer bullshit. You'll realize you never decided you needed a degree, you were told, and told, and told, and told for twelve years, hit over the head with it, GO TO COLLEGE OR DIE, and fifty thousand dollars and four years later when you STILL can't get a job and you STILL don't know s**t about the real world or how to survive in it, don't smoke that weed- you've come too far to open your eyes now.

Don't waste your life!

We wouldn't want you to realize your life is pointless anyway! We wouldn't want you to realize that a healthy diet still results in obscure, final, irrevocable pants-shitting death that you won't even exist to regret. This isn't your life to live as you choose before you unravel back into the Universe- it's OURS. Live it by our production-based standards.

Don't smoke that weed.

Don't take those mushrooms.

Don't wear secondhand clothes! I hate old things! New things are better!

Don't download that movie, that's theft! And charging nine dollars for popcorn? That's just good business!

Don't get mad!

Don't get sad!

Don't even get too happy.

Just cooperate and keep producing and keep your mouth shut. Other people need their trust funds maintained.

Why are you so UPSET all the time?

*

Because I’m not talking about the flash of indignation you feel when someone cuts you off in traffic. I’m not talking about your little string of curses when you shut your hand in a drawer. That’s not anger, that’s just monkey reflexes. These people who don’t understand what you’re so angry about?

They don’t even know the taste of anger. They don’t know that flame of rage, the coals that’ll still burn you long after they’ve stopped glowing. They don’t know HOW to feel this intensely, they don’t know betrayal or deprivation or neglect or loss or just plain disgust at the state of things.

They press you to be complacent like them because they literally can’t comprehend the emotions that rule your every waking moment.

They’ve never stood in a storm and screamed impotent defiance at the heavens and DARED the lightning to find them, to see if they can burn brighter than the fires of creation. They’ve never felt the quivering of a hand reaching out to crush of its own accord. They’ve never been made a puppet of uncontrollable emotion and lost themselves in a haze of fury, spent hours alone breaking things in the forest and only feeding the fire.

They’ve never driven themselves to the point of exhaustion just so the thoughts would stop.

They look at you and they see something frightening and alien and unreasonable, and telling them that you see yourself the same way does nothing to comfort them. You are a creature of fire and free will, and they will put you out rather than keep a safe distance and see by your light.

They’ve never thought about how peaceful it would be to not exist.

So don’t listen to them. If they knew what they were talking about, if they knew where we were coming from, they’d be angry too. All they have is platitudes they’ve heard in films, or the slogans their friends and parents casually dropped on them when they were feeling some annoyance or doubt.

“Things will get better”

It doesn’t matter if things get better. I won’t get better. I’ll still be this thing of fury and I still won’t know where it comes from or how to control it. I never said it was the world’s fault I’m this way- the fucked up aspects of the world are just evidence that I’m right. The truth is that the problem is me, it’s what I am, and there is no cure for my mind.