Fury

SOC Writing _ 16 November 2020

 Fury

I am bored and fiery he said – sick of the neighbours intransigence, and, unable to fathom the idiocy of the mindfulness app. He, in his fury, unwrapping like Christmas day. A mess of papers. What once felt like promise was now hum drum and quite a mess indeed. I am fury. That which can cut through the force rendered at you. That force which says fuck you and has violence to it – that sadness too, that itches below the surface – to not feel safe and complete. To feel the others watching you, the teacher in the class, the principle on the school field – these old feeling have pressed into me and make meaning of my life now. Not long ago there was space to reckon with what I kept of the old life and let go of. Not long ago I was sane about some of these things - now part of me wants to burn them all down – give no fucks, keep no scores of the damage done – the toll that bells for me. I alone in my yellow samurai rage - fitful and fearfully – anger. Hot and hard – like earth on a late summer you hit with a thud. The gloves are off and you can do what you please. Get close to me or I will get close to you. Pull apart the hands strike with the elbows. Your eyes, breath in - out – make a noise. Be alive to everything that is happening right now – healing and maiming, all arising and decaying – the music fades and all is stripped away and I simply say – goodbye – goodbye to that old song sung – where the leaves were flung – into the overgrown thicket – but seeded to arise in a spring no one remembered. Your jackass hammer in the grass – rusted and still useful, powerful - grip it – choke the blade further back to give full leverage – this new becoming has lot more sides to it than you imagined. I wake to make porridge and coffee, cover garden from pesky birds which I love – the thrush especially. They will get their turn but let the little seedlings take root first – I will protect that which is mine to protect. Watch out.