Burning Up The Fuel of Anger

I just left work in the afternoon. I’m in the car now driving. The radio is on. Low.

Let’s go faster.

Ninety mph on the burning highway, like Nascar’s where I practice, weaving with the rhythm as my tires suck down pavement. The windows, open. Outside the temp is ten higher than my speed. I’m at one with heat. Pushing buttons. Scorching.

I am mad. Something today reminded me again of that day last month when my angry sister spread the ashes of our parents somewhere. Somewhere.

I don’t know where the ashes of my parents are.

Because I wasn’t told. Hate. At it’s finest. To be cut this way… A memory betrayed. I think this must be hate.

Today was a day for angry reminders piling up on me from many sources. This year has seen bundles of faggots and maggoty wood, people being too human to be understood. I feel practically combustible at this stage. My anger fuels itself.

The radio. I need consuming sound.

I need a deep bass introduction rumbling to fruition. I need the thunder clap of glass jars smashing with a techno fiery crescendo booming in my chest. (Glass is in my chest) The speakers in my minivan don’t get loud enough to deal with this: stress.

I have stress.

And the cruel vindictive smile drifts and twists across my lips.
Here it is. Turn it up now.

The beat cracks. Soundtrack of power, so. much. sex. Devilish with a twist. Burn of excitement and rage! Veering to a sway of evil lyrics and a haunting whine of snapping dogs in the smoky ghetto. Give me strength!

I love the angry noise of your popular defiance.

Leave me empty, wear down the pain. I am suffering again. I’m a bratty sadomasochist though.. So that’s okay. It’s okay.

I listen for a while.

They loved me while they were alive. My parents loved me.

Music is a mantle we throw over ourselves to armor our souls, music the many-layered garment clothing us, alerting the spirit world to the status of our hearts. But no one else… Not on the highway going ninety. Why tell anybody? This is helpless rage beating in my brains and gnawing in my breast.

Angry music throbs inside me and echoes back my rage reality – that sync is pleasing, it’s a quality grind. I need validation. I am furious, seething, boiling, frustrated beyond speech. But I am thinking things through as the curling smoke of rhyme curves around my mind.

Here’s what comes next.

I let it flow and blow like a hot wind through my soul (I don’t feel guilty) I am angry. I settle down into my seat as the whispery trail of acrid exhaust clings to me and sails out behind me, all around, like a cloak of dangerous invisibility. Oh my rage. My friend. My comfort.

I have been wronged. Lied to. I have been blocked and disrespected. Ignored and mocked, scolded and undermined all in ways that blow my mind. I have been hurt. By horrible people. I am hurt!

And that… that is the truth of it.

This is me in pain.

Truth shines a silent soothing divine beam through the dirty loud grit of the angry sound cloud and pierces my heart. Truth is life to the desperate heart. Truth is in the art. I can start again.

But I don’t want to yet, I like this track.

*turns the radio down

Let me pout, God? Let me sigh and glance a little at the rushing concrete barrier flying by my side, racing by my side, like a long lost devil lover by my side?

That’s a bad thought. Fuck.

And just like that I decide. I’ve had enough of self-pity. Self-pity is not soft or sweet.

*pushing buttons now

Throwing off the mantle, deciding to shake a little, ease up on the throttle, mind my driving manners. I switch the station to praise.

And You are here.

“Oh God of infinite wisdom help me here!”

And You do. Your word speaks truth. You clothe me with garments of praise. That means these bitter rags are gone away. It begins slowly though, that agreement in my heart with what You say, I feel naked and raw for a minute as the air clears and the dragon’s breath moves away, from off my back. You are true. All Your Words are True.

I look to You.

Maker of Heaven and Earth.

I look to You.

And I have peace, a bit of peace again, because this season, (with its choices and its pride, its tempting voice of lies, its unsafe hopes and discontent) this season is just that. A season.

And we’re all human.

You are here with me. And I almost failed to notice that. Thank You for shining quiet on my heart. Thank You for listening to my hurts and helping me forgive the dirt. I’m made of dirt.

Later, much, much later after a day centuries in length, a day which somehow furthered the burying of old narcissistic thrones and selfish petty bloody bones and citadels where I don’t belong, (my soul is full of life, it does not decay) all crumbling back into the earth where they will stay (I did not give in to call him or write him or text him and those hims are all different and that is my vice) because tending to the now prepares my family of three for the future.I don’t sow death anymore.

 I sow to the Living and I reap for the Same.

Later in this day of a thousand years the twin sounds of my boys soft gentle snores amid cicadas buzzing in the summer will hug my ears. It is evening in the blessed cool dark of my apartment.

And You, Oh God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob have never left my side.

You gave me that. Solace. Oh King of Glory I am faulty and a sinner but You are holy, You are good. Every word of Yours is Love for the unworthy. Me.

You love me.

I am blessed beyond measure and I am good. Thank You for today. I give You praise for Today.

Today is Quiet now after the smoke has cleared and it is Good.


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