Anger Management

The Ides of March approach, and It stirs within me, the animal.

It's 5:23 am and I am listening to Rage Against the Machine, "Calm Like a Bomb," "Sleep Now in the Fire", etc.

Talk about resonation.

I swear I can't put two thoughts together right now. Don't want to think. Just want to move, feel, react.

Something wells up and I see, myself:

deep in a cave, gnashed-teeth, clenched-fist, as I double over, spasming, then give birth: a dark little creature, fur matted with mucous and blood, its mouth filled with teeth. It hits the ground with a wet smacking sound then quickly darts out the cave.

I do not try to stop it, but follow, follow as it runs into the desert, panting and growling. I run slightly behind: legs pumping, head pounding, and eyes tearing in the wind.

You have to let it out, right? Let the beast out, while it's still contained inside you. Either that or it grows, grows in the darkness, nourished on your own guts, swelling beyond all proportion until, finally, it bursts forth, leaving nothing but scraps of skin.

"Fuck it, cut the chord!" sounds in my ears.

Amen, brother.