Faster Than A Bullet Train

I like being a male blogger. Some of us are really good at it.

But I can’t keep with the girls.

I can’t. I am a very, very angry person, but I am getting my ass kicked left and right by several female bloggers so far as politics goes. Actually, last time I did this, I couldn’t keep up with them back then. Now that I have become a bit of a better writer, a better father, and a better husband, and a better son instead of a guy with so much hate that I couldn’t keep it out of my own house,  I am apologizing my happy ass off to everyone I love and suddenly, things are not bothering me as much anymore.  It seems I am doing what some would call an “exorcism”. Most people reading this will say, “Oh, Ron is finally adjusting to his medication.”

No. No, you idiots. All I am doing is being sorry for making a big mess out of everyone’s life that I love. This is not supernatural, this is not psychiatry, this is just feeling sorry for myself. Read those words very fucking carefully. Because it is not “feeling sorry for myself”. Those are separate words, not a fucking phrase. I am feeling very sorry for some of the things I have been doing to everything I actually like, which as I have said, is pretty much everything. I have hated for very, very long, hated all of humanity and the earth and the stars for way too long, because it pretty much didn’t acknowledge my existence as a human being.  Now it seems that some people are realizing I exist, and that means good things for everyone. I can tell you this-I have been through more than a monkey should handle, and it is completely reasonable that I should explode like a nuclear bomb. NONE of you will ever fully comprehend what I have seen-none of you. I will never understand all of it, how the fuck would you? It seems that the only one has understood all of it is my father. He doesn’t know what I have been through, but so far in my life he is the only one that has listened to all of it with patience I have never known. I don’t know if he will read this, and he probably won’t, but I do not care, because I have already told him some things that needed telling and he picked it all up. Somehow my dad, this guy who has been declared about ten times as “sick” in the same terms that I have been described as…as bipolar, as too violent to his wife and kids(and he was, I’m just a harmless crank with a vocabulary the size of Germany), he got it. He listened to a good chunk of what I have to say about what I have seen. That’s a hard act to top; I mean, yes, all of the people I know have waited for me to fucking calm down and I have made them cry a lot, but my dad actually asked all the right questions. For too long, I have tried to interpret myself through the bizarre reactions of others to me, and last night someone just decided to hear and ask questions instead of trying to tell me I was demented. He read me right back to myself. That is all I have ever wanted.

Now I can be nicer, and just tell stories of where I have been and where you all have sent me. But I am no longer going to take it out on you, now I just get the opportunity to take it with you.

I don’t know what that means. It doesn’t matter to me, and it should not matter to you. You are all going to do whatever it is you do. All of a sudden, I do not mind that you are doing it. I even went outside today and raked some dog shit and broke some ice with a rake. I got a big kick out of it. A big one. I threw the rake against my house. It felt good.

If you know what I mean, if you know the joy of work, then you are a friend of mine. Now I get to tell you how much I enjoy you instead of how much I fucking can’t stand any of you. There are plenty of you who get this. I don’t care what you call yourselves. My wife is the only one who will ever really get it, because she is my best friend. I can’t beat that; neither will any of you. I have tortured everyone and now I am OK. That is an apology. To everyone I have known, to everyone I know and will ever know, that I am sorry I did that.

Basically, the only person I have really laid waste to is myself. There are reasons for that that I can’t explain. Lots of you are laying waste to yourselves. It doesn’t matter, you take your road and I shall take mine. You can all take whatever road you want, because I have finally claimed mine, and you have too. The only thing all of you have to do is go get your own, because mine is a long one that is impossible for anyone to travel, least of all me. There’s nothing worse than death, and since it hasn’t happened yet, you don’t need to worry. You’ll have a nice life until that time.

Mine will be nicer. I mean it. As in I will be nicer from here on. I can make it. Thanks to everyone who got me here. Now, all of you who hate people had better watch their ass. Because I am back in the game, and I promise I will fuck you up if you hurt my family. I will come at you with fire and death and destruction and all of the hate that I have gathered and I will use every word I can think of to make you feel like you want to die. Because when you get right down to it, they are just words, but they have great meaning. I will probably fuck you up if you fuck with any of the people who didn’t leave me. I am a very mean monkey, and you will not get in my way.

But dig this: I like you anyway even if you bump me a little. That is what keeps me happy. When you bump into me, I feel that everything is right. Don’t bump too hard; there will be consequences. That is not a threat, that is not a promise, that is merely a warning that I am still on fire. I have burned myself. You can burn yourself on a fryer, or on the stove.

Whatever it is that can cause you to burn works for me! Now go read Pam Spaulding or Amanda Marcotte for some quick-witted politics, because they get pissed off quicker than I do. They are on the right side. Over there. The right side of this blog. Go see them instead. I’ll see you guys soon.

About The Head Seminarian

I went to war, I went to father, I came, I saw, and it is a mess. I wouldn't have it any other way. Shitty people amuse me, people who act like human volcanoes fascinate me like fine art. Life is beautiful, and it is under attack in a manner heretofore unseen in history. I might be writing a blog. Yes, that's all I am doing, now that I think about it. Even I forget sometimes, so we're cool.

Posted on January 14, 2011, in postaday2011 and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. i am glad that you seem happier!!! i am glad you might hate less. hate is bad for you. and no chocolate says that. you have a good soul, i feel that strongly. your wife may be a saint. im not catholic…so i dont know exactly what qualifys you for that honor….but i think she might be over qualified. it is good that you write, that you share your journey. keep it up, man.


  2. I will, but we have to remember that I transfer her hate. I’m only the wire. I’ll be as bad off as I always have been, but just happier for myself and much, much worse off for everyone else. Not you. I leave you be. But someone, somewhere will pay dearly if I have to intervene on her behalf. That will cause some problems. I’ve been nice so far, to be honest. Now it is someone else that will feel the wrath of words, which as you know, are much, much worse than fists because words never stop. Words kill at two feet. Fists have to get too close. Guns only work at at least fifty meters.


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