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the darker confessions of a mad bird
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sometimes, anger really is a gift
the first couple of fights i got into when i was a kid, i was small and shy and basically a wuss.
In short, easy prey for the phony-tough
it took getting my ass handed to me a few times by kids who wanted to pick on me to just let go.
When i reached an age where my passive demeanor still invited people who wanted to bust my nuts for no other reason than because they thought they could, my height and size gave them pause
this was when i discovered the value of the cheap shot.
i was 14 the first time i got my nose broken.
the other guy and i only hit each other once before the rest of the guys in class rushed in and pulled us apart, but as the knot on his forehead began to swell from the "Scottish Kiss" i gave him and the bottom half of my face was a crimson mask, i felt this crazy euphoria overtake me
it may feel like shit when the adrenaline wears off, but since then, i find the strangest moments of zen in the midsts of a good dust-up
i acheive my own satori in the process of delivering it, in literal fashion, to others.
by contrast, i also get there sometimes while fucking, although for the last few years it's been mostly easier to find a fight than to manage a good lay
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