B is for Anger (What the world needs)

last night i had a blindingly obvious discovery.

what the world needs is not LOVE. it needs ANGER.

consider this: when one is "in love" or "loved" or surrounded by a feeling of "love", a Utopian sensibility

clouds one's senses. everything will be fine because you LOVE.

but when one is angry, it is as if a blindingly hot poker is sent through one's mind [i borrowed that from battlestar galactica... clearly] and suddenly [and without warning] you see things much more clearly.

you ask yourself:

1. what is going on here?

2. what REALLY GOING ON HERE?

3. how can i change this?

4. what's the best course of action moving forward?

5. and so on [which usually leads to action]

clarity.

so then i say to myself and you
maybe... MAYBE what the world needs is not LOVE but a righteous does of ANGER. i'm not even advocating rage but hey...

all you need is ANGER

Comments

B is for Loving Boys

90's boy love - Joey n Chandler.... a moment of randomness between Catharsis videos There are boys I love . And they love me. And we’re open about it. Just last Saturday I got a text message from one of those boys who said “I love you too man” in response to something I said. My boys are artists, artistes, atheists, and agirl (who is in fact one of the boys so hence the addition to the category) fathers, brothers and high school musicals (Jed and Umar will get that one – lol). We share ideas, music, random nothingness and Brent Worthington . We approve, reprove and listen to each other. I think the girl that I end up with must in fact be like the boys I love. Good looks aside… please… have some substance. One of my boys is appalled that I watched Gossip Girl (if you’re going to bash it… know what it is first) and has for this [and other minor reasons] jokingly labeled me a homosexual. But he who looks like Miley Cyrus with rainbow bandanas should not talk [chuckles]. I love my

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8. And Gordon did look upon the face of the actor, standing at his door. Wet, cold and angry. Gordon invited him in but he refused. He wagged his finger, trying to gather both thought and breath. Gordon turned away for a moment and returned with a towel and a glass. Whisky and water. Mixed. The actor took a sip and was sated some. Presently, he began to yell: “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, GORDON?! WHA… WH… WHAT YOU DO THAT FOR?!” The actor wept. Gordon, not missing a beat took his sketchbook and showed it to the actor. His wet, nubby fingers thumbed through the book growing ever more confused as he did. Gordon’s notes were likened to a physician’s and, quite possibly, only a physician could have possibly been able to decipher it. Possibly. “I don’t understand your handwriting.” “I do. I know what I’m doing.” The finality of that answer was… comforting but the actor required more. “You still have more of that whisky mix-thing?” Gordon turned from his guest, smiling to himself

B is for Stealing

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