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Jul. 21st, 2007 02:49 pmI am angry all the time. I can't stop it or swallow it, but I am constantly tense and nervous (the real definition, not the crap one we have now) and edgy and I am without ceasing looking for a knock-down drag out with everyone I come into contact with.
Maybe in the old days I just channeled this into having emotionally scarring battles with Emily once every three or four months and spending the intervening periods trying to recover from them, but as I've nobody left to vent this against who seems likely to talk to me once I have, it's all I can do to stop myself bitching out every single person and thing I see, because it all feels wrong, and looks dirty, and seems lazy and tainted and covered in blood. Surrounded more by sickness and dishonesty than by anything true or beautiful. I wonder now if there ever was truth or beauty, or if Aquinas and Keats were just taking hits off the same dredged up shit that masquerades as goodness and seems to ensnare everyone I know, and which, perhaps ensnared me once, although now the high has worn off and there's nothing there to replace it.
What if that little kid was right, the world is sick and productive of nothing but trash? What if we are so evil that we really did poison and suck away every vestige of goodness creation has? What if the end doesn't come not because it can't or won't, but because there's no point when there's nothing left to save?
I don't know why I'm overcome by rage. I don't know why destruction sounds so very sweet to me right now. I don't know why I'm teetering on the edge of violence when I thought I had finally stepped away. I don't know why everything that seemed to have a hidden beauty seems now to be uglyness masking disease.
So I don't know how to stop it.
Maybe in the old days I just channeled this into having emotionally scarring battles with Emily once every three or four months and spending the intervening periods trying to recover from them, but as I've nobody left to vent this against who seems likely to talk to me once I have, it's all I can do to stop myself bitching out every single person and thing I see, because it all feels wrong, and looks dirty, and seems lazy and tainted and covered in blood. Surrounded more by sickness and dishonesty than by anything true or beautiful. I wonder now if there ever was truth or beauty, or if Aquinas and Keats were just taking hits off the same dredged up shit that masquerades as goodness and seems to ensnare everyone I know, and which, perhaps ensnared me once, although now the high has worn off and there's nothing there to replace it.
What if that little kid was right, the world is sick and productive of nothing but trash? What if we are so evil that we really did poison and suck away every vestige of goodness creation has? What if the end doesn't come not because it can't or won't, but because there's no point when there's nothing left to save?
I don't know why I'm overcome by rage. I don't know why destruction sounds so very sweet to me right now. I don't know why I'm teetering on the edge of violence when I thought I had finally stepped away. I don't know why everything that seemed to have a hidden beauty seems now to be uglyness masking disease.
So I don't know how to stop it.
