Resurrecting a Madman
Forgive me your honour, it’s been nearly a year since my last confession. I’m not about to waffle on so let me cut straight to the bones of the matter. It’s all about the emotions. In this case, anger. Pure, unadulterated rage. Anyone who’s ever been miffed in their lives (and I’m assuming that’s just about everyone) will know that hot feeling you get somewhere inside you that’s just dying to get out and scream until your lungs explode.
Pretty much that feeling, except my insides are glowing white hot. If I get any worse, I fear I may burn off the earth’s atmosphere. I can almost feel the horns preparing to grow out of the top of my head. I want to tear skin from bones, squash eyeballs beneath my bare feet and generally do whatever evil shit I can. Normal anger temporarily blurs the line between right and wrong, good and evil. This new state of being removes the line and puts them all in a blender. Is evil good? Is right wrong? That’s for the courts to decide because I can’t tell anymore.
I’ve had some of the worst days of my life so far these last few. Highs and lows and lows and when you think it couldn’t get any lower, more lows. I’ve no doubt left several people in Waterford (from where I have just returned) thinking I’m either the most insufferably boring dickhead ever or just plain psychotic. Although even at that, I would confess to being somewhat of the latter. I can’t call it depression because it’s not diagnosed. It is what it is, to use a term I heard again recently, a complete headfuck. This kind of shit wasn’t supposed to follow me into my mid (to late) twenties. This is the kind of completely contemptable, moronic, waste of space bullshit you gladly leave behind you when you stop being a teenager. This whole “You hurt me so I hurt you, then you hurt me back so I’ll hurt you again” dialog is enough to drive anyone to console themselves with two bottles; Jack Daniels & sleeping pills.
But life goes on and you either learn to forget or you bury it and run away. Hell, if I did the latter of that combo, I’d be living in Canada now. You don’t go out to maim and disfigure people for life, even though it’s the only thing you can think about. Dig in your heels and see what’s around the next corner, even if you are approaching that corner at 200kph and the road isn’t exactly wonderful. If it’s good, you make it home and live to be fucked around another day. If it’s not so good, you end up dead on with a truck. Life really is a mugs game.
Now to turn off that radiohead cd before I feel compelled to eat it. Be good, take care of eachother and don’t fuck eachother around. In the end of the day when we’re all barefoot and penniless, all we’ve really got is eachother.