Proverbial masturbation

"There's nothing different between us sitting here drinking Olde English in a field, that guy gardening, and going to a music festival. It's all like masturbation. We're the same [unchanged] people, just with new experiences."

"We're trying to do our job, and you are impeding us. This is private property and if you don't like it you can leave."

Why do we do the things we do? In some ways we are following a trail and making decisions when we come to forks in the path. In other ways our choices don't really affect the outcome, and simply reflect a series of miscommunications, or the abstractions that allow individuals to move forward in competing postmodern dichotomies. By this I mean that our actions are in reaction to the narratives that we are presented and thereby implies that our knowledge is framed in a way that relies on limitations rather than holism for response.

I've been feeling flashes of anger in greater frequency. Rage is putting pressure on my daily interactions without a healthy outlet. This is alien to my usual demeanor, a new signal to a brain that is generally a demure pattern of highs and lows. I can't explain why these impulses of violence have been gaining footing in my emotional terrain. My justification of passing through mental and physical transition does not fully explain the rising bile that I hide behind my face. Rather there is some mysterious, undefinable force on my psyche that leads to uncharacteristic moments of genuine hatred. 'It's not you,' I promise inside, 'but just a stressful day, or too little sleep.' I continue to smile and nod sympathetically.

But underneath the surface I am ready to punch through your skin. Not just to cause a bruise, I want to push past your bones and blood. I am grasping for any justification (or relishing in the absence of such) to turn your body into a dark smear on the wall. To quote Dead Moon (who provide enough material in their repertoire to cover any circumstance): "I'm already gone." I am turned against you and all the institutions, attitudes, and beliefs you represent. While my expression doesn't show it, I don't really care about what you have to say, because I know you don't care what I do. You are so ready to place everything into such neat boxes, to reduce all the phenomena to your preconceived ways of understanding. I am only standing here silently, listening to your complaints and sorrows, because my brain just can't react quick enough to motivate my tongue into a clever retort. As such, I am visualizing your demise and putting all my frustrations into the tense fist that you don't see. Someday this fist will be so tight, with my nails digging into the molecules that make my bones, that I will unleash it to destroy the world. Then I will relish in the visceral joy of destruction, the screams and needless pain that will soothe my fiery soul. The glass and flesh and metal will all be annihilated, reduced to their atomic blocks, to become clouds of smithereens.

I will then rearrange this dust into a more harmonious and productive reality. One that integrates all the opposing mentals into systems of reaction. The obstacles to transmission of individual meaning will be broken - all the expressions and words and images that confuse our daily communications will be removed. In this utopia we will respect each other as individuals deserving rights, regardless of social position, blood, or species. We will speak straight to eachother, without defensive or obscuring phrases. Similarly we will see straight into each other, with no deflections of appearance. The new dawn will be bright and harsh and warm after the cold that enshrouds our fanciful, mystified modernities.