Original article posted by ravenpaine:

Which is honestly not the goal around here.

I have reached a set of tawdry kinds of conclusions and I would like to adress some of them off of my soapbox and directly into the minds of the citizenry.

I have wronged some people in my time. Almost everyone, actually. Some times I feel justified in such actions, other times I do not. Some times I want to apologize for things that went wrong and some times I want to say things that cannot be said. Other times I want the demented pig fucker that such comments have been lobbed at to twist in the wind and leak from the bowels until he dies.

The latter is much less common then the former.

I suppose the problem with living in a reactionary life is that there will always be something esle to yell out into the world and so few times to simply erase the things that you have done. The unfwitting and unfortunate comprimise is that you must always carry some fragment of the mistake with you. My solution is then to do what I can and make up for it later. Make your mistakes then clean up your mess. It takes a lot less time and aside from the pissing off, insulting, angering, humiliating, and ostrecising almost everyone its a pretty good system.

So here I am. I feel rotten. Shitty, braindrained. In certain cultures ritual suicide is prescribed for errors of this sort. My obsession with honor makes this sound like a solution but my undying belief that living is the only real solution keeps me from it.

There is an apology in here somewhere. It exists between the lines and around the words and says what I want to say in a way that I just cannot say it.

The redcress of grievences thing that I normally try for involves everybody yelling at everybody until things work properly. The problem with this system is that when you fear hurting the person you have a problem with, and you exasperate this condition through a thorough distrust of yourself and your intentions, the end result is that everyone must remain angry and confused and hurt for longer while the solution wanders around stabbing Roman’s in the spine and laughing at you because you didn’t end this sentence when it was a sentence instead of now when the meaning has fled into a rose colored sky somewhere south of Topeka where it will meet a fur trapper turned surfer named Leo and find true happiness at the bottom of the ocean in a bar owned by none other than Napoleon.

Because that would have been a helluva lot more useful then the thing I just typed.

Rodney TGAP
reluctant misanthrope, confused asshole, unrepentant friend

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