Angst

Let’s tell the fucking gods they’re stupid – so they throw a tantrum and make a storm so big that nobody can leave.

Phantogram, Silversun Pickups and John Frusciante.

Angst.

All the pent up anger of a pre-teen laying on a roof on a gloomy fall day. Hiding out back to smoke some cigarettes underneath the patio of our North Carolina home where the forest was a never ending green. Inhaling the sweet relief of smoke next to my curled up dead tomato plants that grew as tall as my dreams and ambitions.

The fruit it bore was large and abundant with a thick skin. They laughed and underestimated the harvest, but the plants grew ten feet tall, crawling up to the second floor.

My father drunkenly swinging a gun, or a sharp blade – talking nonsense and demanding snacks that were never to his liking. A modern communist. An emotional rapist.

Angst.

Misunderstood angst that I now understand and have every single goddamn reason to justify.

I’d run into the forest alone to get away. And find magical corners where I didn’t think about anything for once as a kid. Until Big Brother would radio me. I would try ignoring it so much.

The creek in the yard would overflow sometimes. All the way to the lawn. I wanted chaos and I would get it.

In every moment of my upbringing there was some sort of chaos that I observed and felt deeply.

Maybe I like being mad. If the circumstances were uncontrollable, my anger could be.

And as most would want to silence the chaos, I embraced it.

I’d say fuck you to everyone in the back of my mind.

Drinking a Stella isn’t sexy? Fuck you.

I would do everything as much my own way as I could. With such attitude. And this is why I’m here.

The storm never ends. It comes and goes.

And when it comes, I say bring it motherfucker!

Here – typing.

You can hear the angst that a pen sometimes can’t scribble.

Looking dead into a screen. Not your hands, the paper nor the pen.

The fucking screen and your thoughts.

I wanna punch someone.

Angst is the gold fist. Those who deserve it, will get a taste.

And the blessed will get to kick back and stare at the gods in the sky with no fear.

Someone’s always going to test you.

Might as well have an attitude about it.