manlycornhusk's blog post - The Angry Sandwich

"Come to the dark side" is a catch phrase that never felt truer than last evening. I became that which I have always detested. A mindless morass of anger.

All you most notable despots of history, move over. I have touched that low, sickly sweet cesspool that created you. I have felt anger, hate and I am lesser because of it. Perhaps it is in the nature of man. Perhaps it is that lingering memory of distrust, intolerance, hatred, anger, violence clinging to us, harkening back to the beginning of our accention. Perhaps this is the desperate rambling of a man eager to find succor for his sin. Perhaps.

The truth is, it was unexcusable. Can a person have empathy when they also harbor intolerance? I think not. The human experience was cheapened by my actions and it's dead weight plagues me with questions and guilt.

Like layers of a sandwich, I've piled that which is me between two slices of vanity and delusion. I've added a leaf of pain, a ring of venom, thinly sliced mania and looked to cover it's distasteful flavor with a slathering of love, a dash of hope and a final dab of sacrifice. Cut on the angle with a shaft of spite, like a sword thrust through the heart, as decoration. Tastefully presented on a plate of appearance and accented with a sprig of charm, I fool no-one.

In failing others, I have failed myself. The regret betraying the action becomes my own worst accusation. No mirror shall hide that dark, berry stain on my heart and its punishing glare is that high garden wall I must scramble over in order to begin a journey of re-creation.

I do not even attempt to ask for forgiveness. Change will be the only medicine that will cure this ill. I must make that attempt before it is forgotten. Here and now, upon this rock, above this land and under the ponderous heavens, let it be known that, incomplete and flawed as I am, there will be no tolerance of my own failure, no congratulations at the half-way point. I am to be purified in the self_imposed fires of failure and will emerge when my molten remains have flung of the impurities.

This is testiment to that goal. The price of failure is not something a man should want to unveil. It is loneliness, cold and death. It is the theft of the greatest gift....the ability to love unconditionally and it is not something that I wish to belittle.

Are you reading this and thinking to yourself, why are we put upon to be confessor to this unremarkable man? For that, I do apologize. The very nature of this place seems the answer. Nakedness. Unabashed, openly forward nakedness. Not only of the flesh but of the soul. Yes, confession is the healing touch and my torn heart begs to be understood. I just ask for that which I befouled..tolerence. I wish to be reborn. I beg for rebirth.

Peace and Love, not so lofty a goal as to be unattainable...