I feel a little piece of myself in everyone I know, everyone I meet. We are all a mixture of light n dark. A fine recipe of delicious complexity. I am joyful and depressed, I’m hateful, I am optimistic, I’m a killer, I’m jealous, I’m content and curious, wild, responsible, disengaged, entitled, invisible, enraged, tired, discouraged, complacent, magnificent. Big breath in….. real, lost, embarrassed, hopeful, dreamy, open, humiliated, passive, judgmental, honest weird, eccentric, lonely, pissed, accepting, blank, spiteful, alive, proud, blessed, dismissive and aggressive.
If we’re honest, several of these are living within us. Sure the positive traits/experiences are easy to embrace and recognize. The darker, shameful, maybe even shocking tendencies we def try to conceal, deny, excise. They need love and compassion too. They’re looking for recognition and expression. To be lovingly surrounded with safety, protection and containment.
When I’m angry, my words flood in scritch. Like scribing stone. So they may never disappear. So they may never leave. Writing gets less peak and vallyish and more jagged, bouncing above and below the lines. Words connecting in disconnection. Sorting through hot angry choices – ideas flow like lava into tiny cramped villages. Hear the screams? See the blood? Flowing blood of 14 murdered run-on sentences, double negatives. Just desperate to be heard, stealing your breath – all the while you barely notice you’re in a strange paragraph.
Anger speeds to keep the spotlight, arriving sideways on two wheels, smoking suffocating fumes. Pull up a chair – make room at the table of litter-al disgust, humiliation or just plain carnage. No napkins, no condiments, no apologies. This is straight up bite me. And it usually does. No questions or permission required, Anger spews and spills anyways. Anyways.
Yelling in caps, bold and underline. All or nothing. Live or die. My anger oblivious to pourameters. Taste the personal power, one syllable calorie at a time. The rage growler is full, no worries, just keep pouring. Anger grumbles…”pour yourself a glass of get the fuck to work. My milky words have come in, express me and fortify your inner child baby”. Anger laughs. Cause anger always laughs louder and longer. Longer and louder.
Tumbling out, a force of a thousand word winds. Rushing, gushing, flushing my pink skin once again. Words that stab at the page, armed with darkness to teach the light page a lesson. But Silence, Stuck, and Blank, the Ex-wives of anger arrive to block his best efforts. My writing calms, grounded saccharine sweetness once again ensues. My full power snuffed until the fault lines shift. Unseen, but still the lyrical fire smolders under the so pretty, dry compost. Soon to ignite in a risky rage, on an ink less page. Implode or willingly purge, it builds. Gather the poops, on the shit deck.
Once again Anger is victorious. I reach in and grab it, dirtying my hands with its wretched filth. Words arrive blunt, raw, real. No brakes, no wheels. Better write quick, before the richness fades. Shit, the good ones fade quickest – like breath on a mirror. Evaporation. The best worst thing that’s ever happened. Clearer energy, yet a cluster at the same time. This time it consumes my mind. Shit show. My only weapon, my keyboard.
Uppercase, lowercase, special characters squeezing out between wrinkled fingers. Letters morph into dripping hot metal, keyboard slippery, steaming. Begging, pleading to be used, fondled, tapped and fingered. Keys popping, huddled into one corner, safety in letters. Line the fuck up. Backspace, you too. Fingers purposely pouncing on keys, aching. A desire to rip something open, expose the beautiful guarded truth.
The killing, a channeled energy of precision. I slaughter, shred and shape syntax taking prisoners. It all sucks, it’s all brilliant. Anger doesn’t give a fuck if it doesn’t have a voice. Rage abides by no rules. Needs no direction. Bring it inward or vomit it onto others. Anger is never homeless. The seat of simmering lives in the golden land of swirling belly current. Solar Plexus real estate.
Writing, just a vehicle for my seethe. My ugly. Words dancing on hot coal paper. Jumbled, scratchy and ashy. Fuck punctuation. Use.them.all. Use-them-none. Hyphen-loving head case. I’ll keep writing till there’s none left. Fuck all your rules. Ju,s!t t)r.y and fi?gu!re this Sh(i’t O;u”t. Not listening to your linguistic lalala. Yer haphazzard hipee hooplah.
My angry words burn the coating off a smile. Wicked words, siracha sentences, putrid paragraphs. A remedy in the making. My darling Anger, have I represented your likeness a-cure-late-ly?
Met someone from my past today. Except she clearly, did not recognize me.
I was getting a pedicure 3 chairs down from her. My feet are pretty ticklish so I was squirming and laughing through the brushing, the massage, hot stone massage, etc.. She looked over at me, enjoying myself, and shot me a look of absolute disgust and hate. Leaned over, closer to her friend, “what is so funny, why is she laughing at us?” she announced rather loudly.
WTF? This nasty human obviously had no tolerance for my joy or light. She assumed I was laughing AT HER. How convoluted and strange. At first I was shocked but it still did not stop me from carrying on feeling the joys of foot massage and reacting uninhibited. I’m not about to put a lid on my joy.
Imagine walking around in life thinking everyone is reacting to YOU, that EVERYTHING that happens around you – is about you – and for you? Sounds kinda like a 2,3,4 year old child. She clearly wanted to extinguish my aliveness with violence. The way she looked at me was full of contempt. Like I “DID something to her” just by being in joy and being in the moment. This threatened something in her. She wanted to attack me. She kept looking over to make sure I was not still smiling at her.
She wanted to shame me and tried to involve the clinician who was doing her pedicure. I heard her say, “That’s disgusting” and motioned for her friend to look over at me. I felt them both look over and laugh to themselves. Evil, I’ll tell ya. I so badly wanted to rise up and give her the feeling of powerlessness that she soooo does not want to feel!!!! I’d volunteer…I fantasized about getting in her face and pressing it against the glass, or grabbing her by her hair and dragging her head down to the ground ☺️ but instead, I chose to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. She was livid. It tore her UP to see me still enjoying myself. Her efforts to bully me were fruitless. (Stick yer tongue out emoji) LOL and wasn’t she so very comfortable with trying to intimidate and bully people who appear to “defy” her wishes. Yep, that’s me, just running around pissing people off on purpose.
Her life must be a living hell. Imagine the feelings of complete powerlessness, paranoia and terror this “woman” (and I use that term loosely) has buried under all that rage, disgust, contempt and blame.
It is impossible to know what someone else’s perception will be for any given situation. Never assume that someone will react “normally” in a seemingly no brainer situation. Who really cares what someone else’s reaction to my light is. DNnnmnnnon’t let anyone steal your joy, or try and bully you out of it. My foot massage felt great, it tickled me, brought me amazing pleasure, it was a sensual experience. Too bad if someone reacts unfavorably to my feeling of pleasure – not my f’n problem. I’m just having a reaction within myself, it should not cause rage. Her perception skewed, full of blame and projection.Rather bizarre. But we have no control over how other people react to us.
God bless this poor rageful soul. I refresopted out of refreshing her memory and letting her know we actually were on the volleyball team together in high school… LOL Hopefully she stays out of prison.