Lestat (flambeauvivant) wrote,
Lestat
flambeauvivant

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Anger

Anger.

That whiplash that races through my veins to sear all reason from my heart. And how I collude with it! That source of destruction and chaos and pure unreasoning rage.

Envisage the last time you lost your temper, I mean really lost it hook, line and sinker. How you secretly loved it, every moment of it, how you cherished that shot in the arm, that hot rush of poison. Admit it.

That loss of all control and order and civility and of all that you hold dear. Just toss it all to hell in one pinprick moment. Release yourself from everything that’s fair and sane and tolerant. Be your own god, trash your soul to nothing, do it, why not? Do it for nothing, just do it.

Savor the brittle instant, a tiny blink and you’ll miss it: the briefest raw tug as time stretches unbearably thin. Feel it tear. Ah, and in that moment how the pressure thunders. Got to love it. Welcome that little fireball expanding your chest and for that split second there’s silence, your silence, just a hitched breath, nothing but the sudden low pounding of your blood. Nothing but the world going to hell.

Oh yeah, that’s when you jump. Push. Flare into life, whatever. That’s when the line’s splattered red by your feet and what are you going to do? Cross it? Is there a choice? Do you give a damn? Bring it all crashing down, hit out with something primal, baby. Molten earth in your veins. There’s such honesty in anger, such directness like you’re connected to something infinite. They say hate is a mask, but anger is the raw material of creation. God created the world in love, ha! Snarl with rage and feel His power.

You’re growling with it now, your temples throbbing. Did you break something? Someone? Did you lash out just to feel that delicious shock of friction? Do you want to hurt, snap apart, feel something crumble? Do you want to feel your own bones grind?

We are all conspirators with our own passion.
Tags: anger
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