I can't hear you now.
I can’t hear you now.
Yeah, I said it. I can’t hear you now.
Each scar I can recall, Every memory that surfaces, Each and Every twinge of emotion backed by a sudden and unforgivable surge of strength and resolve that resulted in some level of violent personal expression, some object receiving the brunt of my anger, some random piece of shit reduced to splinters or ashes or crumbles from my fists, or feet, or body as a whole…
I….CAN’T….Hear you now.
Yes, anger IS a gift. Whatever retarded hippy douchebag, overpaid counseling psychiatrist, or drunken pussy acquaintance might lead me to believe…Rage existed long before reason, an emotion pumped hormonally through the blood to ensure survival, whether in defiance of personal danger, deference to a situational obstruction, or just plain admission of pissed-off-edness that EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US FEELS from time to time.
But, with age and maturity, I realize, it is a gift that has it’s place. And I can’t hear you now.
What level of instinct takes precedence? Certainly, there is survival, a determination to endure when threatened. But then, there is the instinct to procreate, hand in hand with the instinct to protect…One action immediately certifies the other.
So, to start, the threatening…A home invasion? A mugging? An attack from another country? An attempted murder? A threat to take away something that belongs to us, be it a wallet, our riches, our livelihood, our capability, a loved one, or our sensibilities as human beings that we assume endow us with rights to live without being a (gasp) victim?
Is THAT the true threat…Victimization? Of ourselves or the ones we love? Is that what spurs us to fight? To defend? To defend those that we have created, our own children, our families?
Whatever level that paranoid television watching and news absorbing has led ourselves to, whatever our imaginations mixed with attacks on our soil, or our religion, or our politicking, or our day to day living, has led us to…I can’t hear you now.
And to every perceived threat of victimization…Certainly, none of us want to think we’re contributing to the collective consciousness, the conspiratorial collective that tells us what to buy, what to own, what to think, feel and do….I CAN’T HEAR you now.
It is rare we feel these gargantuan threats from above in any real way…Our threats are more personal, financial, religious, political…So we settle on the local threats that don’t mean shit. The threats that fill us with dread from day to day. The threats that annoy us during our workday.The threats we might take home and deal with outside of our workplaces. The threats that threaten our immediate future. An unpaid bill, an ignored noise from the engine of a motor vehicle, a half heard remark from a co-worker, an assumption that a neighbor isn’t happy with the state of our yard, a confrontation with someone we might have respect for, or a shouting match with an offspring that refuses to adhere to our own level of conformity and seeks to find their own. To these local and conspiratorial threats that wish that I had a shitty day, I say…I CAN’T HEAR YOU NOW.
To the fat, bald, obnoxious, self-aggrandizing, un-self-aware motherfuckers that I work with, feel free to complain, to bitch and moan and boot lick to our bosses, to kiss more ass that any whore’s been paid to, because you’re worthless pieces of shit, and I CAN’T HEAR YOU NOW.
To every bill collector that calls an hour before a bill is due, harassing good people that are just trying to live their lives…I CAN’T HEAR YOU NOW.
To every armchair politician that reads more than lives and tells me that America is going to be destroyed because someone is doing something they don’t agree with and they are ready to fight about it…I CAN’T HEAR YOU NOW.
Anger is a gift, and rage is a blade tempered on the anvil of our experiences. Sharpened and strengthened with each passing slight, every moment of tension, each and every intolerable affront to our security, livelihood, or life itself, or attempted victimization of ourselves or worse, the ones we love.
But anger has it’s place, and rage should be sheathed until a time when it deserves to be released. To do otherwise weakens our gift and our edge, and our ability to fight when necessary. Yes, I used to react to you. I used to get mad, to become violent, to beat my fist against the wall, to scream at the sky because it is easier than crying. But no longer.
So I sharpen my focus, and live to fight the battle deserving of my rage.
With every foot that hits the pavement on a long run, to strengthen my body, my mind, my resolve, I CAN’T HEAR YOU NOW.
With every pound I press to my body’s limit, every barbell that crashes back into it’s cradle, every fist that pounds the sand in my punching bag into some kinetic submission I’ll never fully know…I CAN’T HEAR YOU NOW.
With every article read and filed somewhere into my subconscious, every abstract thought of revulsion towards the system we wallow in, and every personal grievance stamped into a stone chiseled grudge in my brain…I CAN’T HEAR YOU NOW.
I can’t hear you because what is important to me has changed. It isn’t about anger, or rage, or defiance.
I can’t hear you because the your noise is drowned out by the love of my caring wife. By the innocence in the eyes of my newborn child. By the future I can and will provide for my family, a family that takes precedence over any fight, over any anger, and over any rage. Because of my family, my loving wife and my innocent child, and what I feel for them, I CAN’T HEAR YOU NOW.
So, you may think you have won. While my fight isn’t lost, it has shifted. There are more important things to me than you, and the shit you used to cause me. My anger is a gift that can be opened any time. And my rage can be left in it’s sheath without dulling it’s edge. There is a time and place for all things, including what I can do to you.
But, so help me God, if there is ever a time when you, the collective you, the fat, revolting coworkers, the vulturous members of “society”, the obtrusive bill collectors, the unseen authority that takes pleasure in watching all of us suffer, succeed or fail…If any of you, take a step towards what is mine, who I love, threaten what I care for, put my family’s name on your lips, I will cut your fucking throat, lick the blood from my knife and dance an Irish fucking jig on the sidewalk in the life that drains from you.
Anger isn’t just a gift. It is also a promise. And I promise, if it ever comes down to us, or you…Every bit of me will make sure it is you.