Thursday, 15 January 2009

*Snarl-Growl-Gnash-Hiss*

I am feeling generally vicious and fierce and ferocious tonight; my last post, "Moral Outage" describes some of the reasons for that snarly-growliness, but not all. I'm not sure if I even know all the reasons why (maybe it's my time of the month?)

But right now, I want to be put face-to-face with a misogynist, or a slut-shaming feminist, or an MRA rape-apologist, or a fundie Christian homophobe, or... well, you get the idea. I want them there, and I want to take my katana, and lay into them as they try to defend themselves with no wapon to hand but their own weak flesh. I have a fierce hatred and consuming fire burning in my heart tonight, and if any of those groups whom I hate were near, I would be sorely tempted to unleash my fury and violence upon them.

What follows is not exactly a poem, but I wouldn't call it "blank verse" either. It is perhaps a solliloquy from a play that hasn't been written...

*****

I want there to be fire, I want there to be pain, I want there to be blood. I want howling winds, rain like a thousand whips lashing the scene, lightning that threatens to destroy the very heavens and tear the earth to shreds, thunder like the last sound that will ever be heard.

I want my victims' cries to howl like the wind, their tears to flow like the rain, their backs to show the marks of the whip. I want their pain to threaten to tear their worlds to shreds; I want my voice, distorted in might and power, to be the last sound they hear.

But I would give all that and more, if they could just understand.

And in the meantime, I am a sadist, and I know that there are masochists out there who gladly give their bodies to a sadist, to experience the fierce storm, the raging voice, the vicious whip; who will embrace and offer the fire and the pain and the blood. Who will live through it all, and say only, "more!" even as their bodies sag and slump from the strain. Who will survive and grow and thrill to it, and when the dawn comes, when the rain has doused the fires, and the thunder has passed, will still be there, still breathing, and still warm, and say "thank you!"

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