Sometimes I wonder how much of this image people understand. How much people get that this is... in some ways the REAL me. Piss drunk starting fights in Annie's basement with dudes I'll never win against. I don't care if I win or not. Never do. It's the FIGHT I like. Quick release of aggression. People underestimate my capacity for aggression. Hour after hour after hour killing things. Demons, aliens, zombies, Nazis. Who cares? They're still dead and I'm still here with the gun. Virtually, of course.
First time I held a gun, I got a lady erection. Heart pumped and I got tingly and I thought, “This explains a lot about my life.”
I have theories. I have philosophies about human nature. Violence and sex are one but not and the struggle between the two urges are what makes us human. The ever fluctuating spectrum. Somewhere between violent chimpanzees and loving bonobos, human nature exists. Every human has the capacity for both and the urge for both, but in varying degrees. We must accept this duality as innate and search for healthy alternatives to the orgy and bloodbath. Find balances for our urges.
Ha, the Dionysian arguing for Apollonianism. See what I've become? Sometimes I wonder how much closer to my true nature I was in High School. Was I closer, then, to the true me? Or is the “true me” some bullshit Platonic ideal? Am I the shadow on the wall or the giant made of light hanging out outside the cave? Also? Who cares?
That shirt I'm wearing, with the flies? My mother bought that for me at Atlantis at King and High after Comfest in 1999, just before the tenth grade. I am the Lord of the Flies. Beelzebub. Somewhat fitting to wear it to a fight club, isn't it?
Dionysus vs. Apollo. Chimps vs. Bonobos. Gods vs. Monsters. Somewhere in there is Humanity. And me.
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