Inner Conflict

As I’ve warned people previously, to piss me off is to make a mistake. First I might really be angry, but once my anger cools, I will crack my knuckles and relentlessly make fun of the person in question.

This is to suggest that to anger me is to provide me with ammo, and some people, by the very nature of their failures as human beings, provide me with ample ammunition.

Or you will arm me with material where I can write a blog because I’ve necessarily learned something from the experience.

My most recent lesson learned is that it is, in fact, pointless to argue with Angry Old White Men, a fact I probably already intuitively understood, but that I now know is pointless by virtue of experience.

My breakdown is this: Angry Old White Men Who Have Wasted Their Lives are not the sort of people I want to know, not now, and not in the future. They have nothing of value to offer me, and none of the value I can offer to them is something they will accept. The cause is lost before the dialog has begun.

The tragedy is largely that such individuals have supported a system that actively went against their best interests but weren’t intelligent enough to realize that. They have been played like a haunted marionette, have suffered for their sins, and have been told who to blame- not themselves, but more often than not, “The Other.”

And so the callous part of me erupts at this point. Let them suffer. Let them rot in their own self-induced misery.

But the compassionate part of me says, “No, they really didn’t understand.”

And then I’m left in conflict.

I feel like suffering is the only language that’s going to be spoken for such people. They won’t understand until it hurts, and that grieves me, but maybe that’s just reality.



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