Disgusted

“Pride only hurts. It never helps.” -Ving Rhames

What happened to me today at work was monstrous and unspeakable. Only the victims will know, are forever bonded in shame.

Like a cat dunked in molasses I sat helplessly caked in that shit from head to toe through 45 minutes of rush hour commute home. Stripped and bagged my clothes which were bloody, soaking wet, spider-infested, paint chip encrusted (I can only pray it wasn’t led-based. I feel a panic attack coming on just thinking about it)… Shoes are fucking ruined. Trashed it all and showered like a madman. Finally.

Days like today I understand domestic violence. This trauma needs to be passed along to something or somebody else; it’s eating me up inside.

In theory the only person who deserves the discharge is the person who caused the injury in the first place. Not your partner, certainly not your children nor anyone else but your boss who ordered that hazardous shit cleaned in the first place. In truth I don’t blame her either. Shit happens. Nothing is perfect. Maybe I should blame her though.

With great power comes great responsibility, after all. People in power should be held accountable for their negligence. If you proclaim yourself fit enough, entitled enough to be a leader of men, and reap the fruits of your workers’ labor for yourself and for your family, then you better also be prepared to lose your goddamned head when they do. Bezos has his own police force. He misses the point.

God, karma works through people. Having said that, I admit neutrality. I take, nor desire any part in the process of justice. I am an artist, an observer to the process. I take my licks, then turn the other cheek for more. Art is my compensation. I can crucify my perpetrators later, with a negative review! Take that! Meanie. The pen is mightier than the sword! (See what we’re doing here?..)

Perhaps I should also send her an ‘electronic message’ of disapproval. Call her a big stupid doo-doo head in HTML or something of the sort. [I say nay!] Or how about, [GOOD DAY!,.. (erm) madame!] (Doesn’t have the same ring, does it. (snaps))

Black Mamba would call me a pussy for not doing more. After experiencing a ghastly injury, Uma Thurman’s Kill Bill character takes justice into her own hands by hunting down and executing every last perpetrator responsible. One “over-reaction” that leads to several more…

We celebrate blood-spattered tales of vengeance in our culture. Damsel is but one more recent example. John Wick is another. And now, Monkey Man? In reality, vengeance isn’t very… practical. You know what I mean? Books have been written, I’m sure, on this point.

I think I feel a tad better now. My hours-long fugue mental state may be starting to lift.
Because I was tired on the drive to, and catatonic on the drive home, I listened to the same song on repeat the entire 90 minutes without care – New single from Steve Vai and his master teacher, Joe Satriani. I’ll be working their joint concert Friday. (And only the other top-notch quality concerts the rest of the summer, Boss!)

Pride only hurts. I keep my eyes on the prize like a GODDAMNED champion.

Experience🥊.. Film