Sunday, October 16, 2011

The Devil In Me: The Apple of My Anger's Eye

I have strange fears. I fear that my mind is somehow becoming a barrel of compost, and that symbolism will eventually be replaced by straightforward rhetoric and ad hominem attacks. I fear the passive aggressive counter-culture within the American republic. I fear women who are not feminists. I fear water in large quantities, and yet I am inexplicably drawn to swim, dive, and resurface over and over. I fear the power of television. I fear people's intentions. I fear myself. I even face anxiety around the notion of checking my email. I fear the communal soul and intellect of society- the lack of spiritual progress- the lack of compassion- my own lack of compassion.

And of course, there is always the song of anger.

My wounds heal slowly and bleed blood that is old. My wounds cry loudly and wail for the infantile wisdom which has been replaced with a cynic's shadow. My corpus callosum is strangely round, and I imagine that my brain smells like an onion, and might unravel like one too if peeled...peeled...peeled.

I fear my lack of investment in this bizarre and often terrible realm of human form.

I am afraid that wind howling just might signify the end of times. I fear that this world might go on forever.

I am not afraid of illness, or sickness, or the words " terminal illness" when combined.

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