I have a serious need to vent. Everyone out here is so Zen and peaceful, but oftentimes, you can see some pent-up exasperation and anger. Bottled up and disallowed escape.
You can't help it; you're human.
I think, despite all forms of meditation and calming and all that junk, that people need an outlet. A punching bag. A shooting range. A piece of gadgetry to smash. A down pillow. Whatever it be, people need some token violence. It's much worse to pen up anger under the guise of calm. We come from such violent roots--by way of survival--that it's inescapable. Of course, there are those few individuals who are really capable of separating themselves from the chaos of the world. Certain Buddhist monks. Gandhi. Jesus. People in comas. Those of us who can't achieve that enlightenment need something to hit once in a while. And I'm sorely lacking right now.
I'd almost be willing to buy a new Xerox machine for the office just so I could take this perfectly good one out back and treat it to a baseball-bat facelift. Goddamn, can you imagine? Little bits and pieces flying all over the place, ricocheting off your forehead, making such a satisfying sound! The leverage of the bat just bringing destruction like something sent from hell to do god's dirty work. Vicious vibrations with every blow until your hands go numb, and your shoulders ache. Tendons and veins stand out like ropes as you grip tighter, swing faster, hit harder, rage deeper; until anger you didn't even know you had bubbles up to the surface to get its hit on. Fuck you! your mind screams, as your breath becomes ragged, and sweat breaks out at your hairline. Die, worthless lump! Channel, focus, aim all aggression at this one inanimate damnit-doll, this whipping boy, this piece-of-shit technological target that didn't actually do anything to deserve this terrible treatment. Or did it?
Just abandon all reason and give in to that wonderful, instinctive animal ferocity. Let the adrenaline take hold and bellow its unholy mantra of havoc. Faster, faster, faster! Grit your teeth, flare your nostrils, narrow your eyes. Give in; let go; have at it! Growl and howl with each downward arc. Never; never; never stop! Plastic, metal, glass cringes before your might. Again. Again. Again. Again. Shred, stomp, snarl and roar.
And Oh, but it feels good! The mess you've made, the energy expended. Muscles throb, and pulse pounds...
Something suddenly makes you stop swinging. A smile. And perhaps you chuckle a little. Giggle some more. Bark with laughter. Double over, helplessly gasping for breath, ribs aching, stomach tight. Exhausted.
And no longer angry.