Tag Archives: anger

Nurture, Nature, Blame your Creator

Nature passed down like

Winding stairs

And nurture hidden

In absent stares.

I meander with the pain in

The visions of sin

And I’ll die kicking

When my legs give in.

Fuck you, letting illness

Dwindle your control.

Fuck me for my aversion

To being consoled.

I’m wrong, I’m wrong.

My heart recoils.

Between me and you

Is ten feet of soil.

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What I feel
Can’t be expressed
With placid words.
They would have to be yelled.
Something would have to be thrown.
Something fragile.
But would it be enough?
Feelings are forever caged.

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Filed under anger, depression, poem, poetry

Malice Cat


Rage’s not rage
When it’s under control.
Disciplined anger is
Straight up Malice.
Rage is dangerous
To the host.
Malice is trouble
For the ghost.

You guys might be seeing plenty more photos on my blog, now I’ve got a halfway acceptable camera. Every photograph is created out of necessity for practice. Aren’t we all just learning as we go along?

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Filed under anger, cats, malice, pictures, poem, poetry, rage

On Love, Violence, and other Truths.

Is love the basis                                                                                         For unforeseen emotion?

“I can’t see a thing!” But my psychopomp seems absent once again.

Surrounding us                                                                                                 are the living things…

And I’m frequently accosted by the same dead tree.



My point? Not sure if I have one. I’m a gentle person with a violent streak. A violet streak? And how many ways I’ve misdirected that rage! I had to find a healthy outlet. Writing is one thing but not exactly satisfying to the physical aspect. I’m celibate these days so rape is out of the question. (And if you take me seriously enough to be averse to that statement, you should be in church or a cooking class and not exposing your fragile psyche to one so frequently abrasive as I.) 1. l.

What is not so satisfying as a calm stroll through the sports section? followed by a careful selection in produce? Knock it. Sound good and hollow? Now calmly purchase that watermelon and baseball bat. Are you whistling a happy tune? Not already feeling better? Giggling to yourself, even? Gallagher must have had some serious fucking issues.

But beneath all the anger lies something most pure but easily misidentified. Pain, hurt. Just cry that shit out. Less harm in it. More therapeutic. No shame in it?? For every salty tear is a thought, crystallized and released. Let it go, eh? Perhaps, if we can cut all that dried up dinosaur sadness out of our diets.



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Filed under mad ruminations