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Tag: anger

It’s a Mad Mad World

I keep coming back to hatred, not only because there seems to be so much of it around right now – not simmering just under the surface like it has most of my life; no now it’s raised it’s ugly, misshapen, and rotting head out of the dirt and slime where it was born. Out in the open, as my dad used to say, so “any fool can plainly see, and you can see it plainly.”

I get it. Anger is easy. That’s where it starts. Anger and fear and maybe a slight sense of being overwhelmed. It’s just a slight skip and a jump from there to the edges of remorseless dislike. There on the outskirts of reason and decency, where the wolves your society insists it isn’t still feeding are hungrily waiting for you, is where hatred is bred, birthed, suckled, weaned, toilet-trained, and otherwise educated.

No one is actually born afraid. That’s learned behavior, some of it instinctually triggered and the rest of it institutionally indoctrinated as you reach out to understand yourself, your world, and your place in it.

Once you learn fear, that single path that’s been right under your feet your whole life up to that point splits, or poetically, diverges into two roads at the edge of a yellow wood. Dualism in full effect. Us sees them. Inside wants outside. Light fights darkness. Death haunts life. What was once a flowing piece of ballet is now a tortured two-step, a lock-step. That mechanical march becomes martial. Lines are drawn to be crossed. Insults are hurled as a precursor to more material objects. It escalates because that’s what a well-lit stairway to paradise does. It leads the faithful to the hereafter.

But hatred cannot win. Because from hatred nothing can grow. It has no life without your energy. Without your legs it cannot stand.

It doesn’t matter who or what you hate. You’re automatically not the good guy or girl. And I don’t mean good in the sense of proper, respectable, well behaved, appropriate, or genteel. No, I mean good as in being a decent, honest, compassionate, and worthwhile human being. If you pick up the armor of hatred, regardless of the evil of your enemy, you must leave your humanity in your locker with your street clothes. And you won’t be going home after your shift. That’s a life choice, isn’t it?

Is it worth it?

11 APR 2025

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Anger is an Energy

Just being angry isn’t enough. In fact, anger alone is the absolute worst way to approach any situation. I get it: there are myriad things popping up almost constantly in this world that can make you upset, disturbed, disgruntled, out of sorts, and irritated to the point of distraction. And as John Lydon so eloquently put it, “anger is an energy.” But just seeing red is no better than only viewing the world as black or white. It may get you through the battle, but it won’t help you win the war. it’s not a long-term or really sustainable solution. Because anger is horribly hard on your system. Ignorance and even bliss can numb you deeply enough you don’t recognize the self-preservation signals your body and mind are genetically programmed to give you. But anger, like uncontrolled diabetes, eats away at your psyche, at your body, until before you know it, you’re old, tired, and feeble with frustration at not being able to get over it. Whatever it is.

If you’re going to fight, flee, or freeze, anger convinces you that leaving or shutting down is the least favorable option. When you’re angry, your muscles tense up, your heart rate and pressure build, and your normally ADHD scanning mechanisms narrow to a razor-fine focus. You’re ready to dive into the fray. At the same time, anger doesn’t give you appropriate weapons for every battle. In some situations, it really is true that when you only have a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. But it isn’t. And you know it. You may get loud and puff yourself up to be as intimidating as possible, but the fact is, as you learn when seriously playing heavy metal music, that volume is not an ultimately effective substitute for power, even if your knobs go up to eleven.

But we can’t help getting angry, right? And so much of the vitriol we find ourselves brimming with is really just disgust at ourselves. When we meet the enemy, and it is us, we are merciless. We beat ourselves up for letting ourselves into the corner we’re backed into, we harangue ourselves for believing in the bullshit yet again, we harangue ourselves for ignoring the warning signs and red flags indicating we’re once again on the eve of destruction. Worst of all, we get upset about getting upset. After all, the mystical traditions all tell you to let it go. Let go, let God. Attach yourself to the process and not the results. It’s not about you. Just breathe. Breathe in Jesus, breathe out Satan. Forget about the wrongs done to you and focus on the wrongs you’ve done to others. All great advice, when you’re not blown up like a pufferfish and imagining yourself wielding a cast iron skillet in a dance with someone’s convenient skull. OK, maybe you don’t get that extreme. I don’t, really; at least outwardly. But you get the idea. Not particularly helpful.

Your nature and nurture both play a role in this. In my own case, throughout my childhood I never witnessed any two people de-escalating conflict. Regardless of whether the pot was watched, it came to an inevitable boil and nobody reached to turn off the stove. My exposure to playground politics, sports, and family dynamics all served to instill in me both a great amount of fear and trepidation and a generous helping of passive-aggressive response mechanisms – sarcasm, dark humor, sullen sulking, isolation, and inappropriate laughter. The bubble, bubble, toil, and trouble in my external circumstances were nothing compared to the cauldron of dangerous chemicals brewing inside me. Worst of all, when you work yourself into that state, you become very susceptible to persuasion. Just witness a bull fight. The angrier and more frustrated the bull becomes, the easier it is for the picador to sneak up with the spear. The more inevitable the matador’s rapier becomes a permanent fixture behind the shoulder blades. When you’re angry, you can be led. You can be misled. And it doesn’t really matter which direction that leadership takes you. If all you know is escalation, all roads lead uphill. Unfortunately, gaining altitude in that way doesn’t necessarily give you any kind of perspective or wider view.

There are so many advantages to moving beyond anger. But so few concrete examples of what that looks like to the untrained (or angry) eye. We talk about peace, love, understanding, and compassion, but these are feelings we’re not all that ready to handle. Because they involve surrender – something that anger sees as the anathema. The last thing an angry person wants to do is compromise, cooperate, or coexist. Before we can communicate as equals, we need to get back to the full spectrum of colors and ease out of the red zone.

Who is demonstrating those skills in the wider world? Even the noblest among us seem to rely on an undercurrent of pointed humor to navigate a sea seemingly chock-full of flaming, cavorting assholes with no redeeming features. When they leave the room we mumble under our breath, roll our eyes, and say, “There but for the grace of god, go I.” That’s not an interdependent world view. It’s not even anywhere near the middle ground.

We try to “channel” that negative energy into positive works, right? But without solid, tangible experience with how that happy place feels to live in, we don’t really even know when we get there. Ultimately, we’re still hog-tied to the results, useless babbling that the ends justify the means. And we stay mean. Not in our words, or outward deeds, or even physical expressions – although Paul Ekman would probably disagree.

That anger, if we let it stew on the burner long enough, becomes a roux of hatred. And if you start with a burnt roux, it doesn’t matter how much water you add or how much butter you fold in after the fact, the gumbo you come up with is going to taste bitter. That’s the danger. We need to not control our anger, or deny it, or bury it. We need to find ways to use it for fuel, not as an ingredient in the stew.

So how does that work? You can’t say you’re not going to get angry, not going to let feelings of hate well up in you like acid reflux. That will happen. It’s as inevitable, as they used to say on the radio show The Shadow, as a guilty conscience. What you can and must do is examine some underlying conditions. Something doesn’t “make” you angry. You choose to “be” angry. To let anger at some situation external to yourself (usually) become the way you choose to define yourself. Usually when that happens, like those who do not suffer fools gladly, we are greatly troubled by the presence of reflective surfaces in our environment. Because anger is not pleasant to look at it, any more than it is to feel. And hate? Besides being the only way to surrender control of your being to something you consider an object (the focus of your hate), it is the only way to absolutely destroy anything beautiful in yourself and the world.

A hateful seed grows only thorns. An angry bulb sprouts into a poison flower.

Anger is an energy, all right. But it’s not an efficient, healthy, or economically viable fuel source. You can run your car on it for a little while, but sooner than later the reckoning comes due.

As Douglas Hofstader put it, it’s a record that contains the frequencies to destroy the record player.

10 APR 2025

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Just Like That

I wish to communicate.
Alas, fate does not desire
that we should speak today;
instead it blocks our way with fire,

which we perceive as brute force.
It’s not, of course, merely smoke;
but feel – its flames do not burn.
Though we both yearn in dismay

at the chasm between us,
neither trusts the other’s pyre;
and so we forgo friendly chat,
each one thinking that a liar

is not worth time spent to know.
Enmity grows between us;
two who could have been such friends.
The whole world ends just like that.

awdl gywydd

15 AUG 2006

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Nobody Wants to Hear

I could be bitter about all this shit
or at least, start to doubt a benevolent universe;
whine on in rhyme about storm clouds and sunshine
that doesn’t come out ‘cept to drink up the water.

My angst could flower under its own power,
give me at least something to call creativity,
some kind of edifice, beautiful, more or less,
a place to lead willing lambs to the slaughter.

Nobody wants to hear you’re doing fine
Thinking your happiness is just a line
To sell them something which they are inclined
to believe could end any old time

I could be bitter, and perhaps I am;
but Goddamn, what’s the point if your grief isn’t endable?
drown in your own tears, and you die expendible
one more pathetic and troubling statistic.

The blues could cover me beneath a shadow,
give me some shade on these hot summer nights,
some of kind of protection from clear understanding,
but would my demons be more realistic?

Nobody wants to hear that you’re OK
without a care for their cares and dismay
working through your special brand of malaise
seeing both colors and grays.

I could be bitter about how things are;
find a bar serving solace and fade from the light;
sing out the changes in slow minor modes:
let my mood fill darkness around me.

My holocaust could be compared to your own;
let us groan ‘neath these chains here together,
spend our time looking for some life beyond
and pretend it’s all inclement weather.

Nobody wants to know your life is great,
instead pretending we share the same fate,
wanting to think that the reason you’re late
is the same trouble piled onto everyone’s plate.

12 JUN 2006

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Recrimination

I could dredge up every wrong and each intentioned slight
to catalog the way the world has hurt me, or just might
and in that laundry list of ills imagined, or in fact,
find solace in a victim’s role to explain what I lack.
But if I fail to count as well the angry words I spoke,
the thoughtless little things I’ve done, the sarcasm and jokes,
then I have not been truthful, nor have I learned much at all;
just made excuses for myself to built a higher wall
throwing all blame for what I am beyond it, out of sight,
and with it, any hope of balance or setting things right.

Because although the world is hard and seems sometimes just pain,
there is no one at fault but me despite my sad refrain
that evil forces hold me back and do not let me grow.
Believing that is one thing, but it does not make it so.
And every time I point a finger to some separate cause,
or seek to change the world without first fixing my own flaws
there is no revolution, no epiphany or grace,
but only more confusion in my mirror’s tear-stained face.
Sure, my environment is part of who and what I am;
but unless I accept my flaws and start to give a damn
about the way that I feed into what destroys and kills
there is no way to move beyond what I perceive as ills.

They say that truth’s a pathless land, that each of us, alone
and naked, must confront our fears ere they be overthrown.
Well, honesty’s a two-edged sword with not much of a hilt;
disuse will turn its blade to rust before much blood is spilt.
Each cut made in another’s flesh will crease the wielder’s hand,
and only with much practice can the user understand
that truth, like revolution, starts with small, un-noticed nicks —
in private; and in spite of one’s brave public politics.

04 MAR 2005

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