Lean On
The blood runs down my upper lip and is channeled into the corner of my mouth. I taste iron. I close my eyes and fill myself with air; a full balloon bracing for the next impact. It happens to land beneath my lowest ribs, in the area of the appendix.
I had mine removed long ago; it collapsed beneath a blow much like the one I just recieved, and I would have died, but for the compassion of my attacker. That also made me feel good. In a way, getting beaten up once a month is about the most selfish thing I do.
This month, I hate gay people. Last month it was poor people, and the one before...I can't quite remember...I might have been a White Supremist...I'm not quite sure. In any case, it all ends up with me getting the crap kicked out of myself.
I'm a humanitarian at heart, really. No one is born evil, and upbringings are irrelevant as far as how one turns out when they grow up. I think so, at least.
It's strange to see the kinds of people who hit me. I've never been happier than when a young Jewish boy of five or six glared at me when I donned my swastika t-shirt. His glare will be unflinching when he becomes an adult.
Knowing things like this is my comfort net; the world is growing to find hate groups unacceptable. The stronger the resistance, the greater the bliss. Get your nose broken, and add a notch to your tally of people who will not allow slavery or the Holocaust to happen again.
As I collaspe to the ground, seeing my attacker with jaw squared and fists clenched, I spit a small gob of blood onto the concrete next to me, and say "Thank you." I black out with a grin of my red face.
I had mine removed long ago; it collapsed beneath a blow much like the one I just recieved, and I would have died, but for the compassion of my attacker. That also made me feel good. In a way, getting beaten up once a month is about the most selfish thing I do.
This month, I hate gay people. Last month it was poor people, and the one before...I can't quite remember...I might have been a White Supremist...I'm not quite sure. In any case, it all ends up with me getting the crap kicked out of myself.
I'm a humanitarian at heart, really. No one is born evil, and upbringings are irrelevant as far as how one turns out when they grow up. I think so, at least.
It's strange to see the kinds of people who hit me. I've never been happier than when a young Jewish boy of five or six glared at me when I donned my swastika t-shirt. His glare will be unflinching when he becomes an adult.
Knowing things like this is my comfort net; the world is growing to find hate groups unacceptable. The stronger the resistance, the greater the bliss. Get your nose broken, and add a notch to your tally of people who will not allow slavery or the Holocaust to happen again.
As I collaspe to the ground, seeing my attacker with jaw squared and fists clenched, I spit a small gob of blood onto the concrete next to me, and say "Thank you." I black out with a grin of my red face.
posted by Diveacje at 2:59 PM
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