The TLP Network

Sharing the Hate, Spreading the Pain: On Consuming Wrath

by on Feb.21, 2008, under Articles, Sharing the Hate

It all continued waking up listening to Schubert’s Ave Maria. Waking up, choking, in a cesspool of my own bile created from lying in an air mattress that used to hold air. A quick scan of the room finds one of my two black Katana firmly impregnated into the corner wall under a the dim hue of a black light. The answer to the question of how the air mattress no longer holds air is self evident along with the fact that my anger grows as each day passes. Without a clock in sight, nor a window to gaze out, I’m not even sure what time of the day or night it is. Let us assume that it is morning though for the sake of argument. Let us safely assume that I am alone, so very alone.

At least the anger is not the only thing palatable these days. Whatever it was I vaguely remembered drinking earlier is literally clinging to the tip of my tongue semi-digested. Not that I drank too much last night, quite the opposite, I did not drink enough. If I had drank more, I might have simply blacked out as opposed to succumbing to a blood rage that erased twenty minutes of my life from my memory. I can only hope there was no one around when that happened. Checking my other Katana there is no blood.

Sadly, I am not even sure what set off this anger some now three weeks ago. All I know is that it continues, and worsens each passing day. If I didn’t practice such a high level of stoic self-restraint others might be in danger. I figure in the grand scheme of things, if I document the loss of my own sanity it might help others from this small case study. The case study of one who despises humanity, and loathes his own weakness of being human. The only current cure is still currently unacceptable.

Yes, there goes a man that simply went. Perhaps, if we learn from his degradation into oblivion others can be saved. However, I highly doubt martyrdom is anywhere in my near or far future. It is glorious thought though that since others generally like to hear about others whose situation is worse than theirs will eat this up like oatmeal on a cold winter morning. Then again there are enough stereotypes about my habits and activities that self-righteous scientists will make the wrong interpretations from the data set. That is still the problem with knowing your conclusion before you write your analysis. There is so much data, that you can find what you want to support your conclusion if you look hard enough.

Does art make one dark and angry, or are the dark and the angry attracted to that art? I would think that people who have the choice on what to experience will experience what they want to rather than seek out new experiences. Perhaps they lose a sense of balance completely submerged in the aesthetic ambiance they choose. People might be able to hone their skill and ability by bathing in these hobbies. Does that mean the art made me do it, or the art focused my intent?

A piercing glance across the living room accompanied by a harsh, “What?” greets my room mate as he asks if I did anything special last night. Realizing I am still holding that second Katana, I quickly shut my door. This quick yet intense movement resembles slamming the door loudly.

No wonder no one calls my phone, or enjoys my company these days. Can’t say that I blame them though. When the phone rings it is someone that wants something, and nothing more. I neither look forward to seeing an incoming call, e-mail, text message, nor do I look forward to making one. Isn’t that what communication is about, man’s ability to ask for something instead of getting it themselves? There is far too much asking for something these days. I’d sooner just not be bothered than be taken advantage of again and again.

Now is a perfect time to take out the bamboo mat I used to sleep on before there was an air mattress. This one might not be as comfortable, but at least I do not have to worry about breaking it. At this rate my already empty room, which resembles a prison cell, might get a little more roomier. Yes, there goes a man that simply went. That is what they’ll say, I’ll make sure of it in my final letter.

Leo Cain

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