violence, misery, death

It's the strangest urges sometimes.

Example: Tonight at some junction, I was in high fourth gear. An SUV sped to get past me and across. Anita O'Day's version of Dizzy's Interlude (A Night in Tunisia) was on loud. I wanted to shift up, press my full weight on the gas pedal, and slam into the side of the truck.

Another: Garbage disposals do it to me too. More than once, I've flipped the switch and thought, Man, what would it feel like to stuff my hand down into that? Mostly, I wonder how I'd vocalize that kind of pain—scream, cry, ouchfuckouchouchfuck, soundlessness?


Of course, they're limp desires, things I'll never act on or out. But that's not to say that, for a split second—half an inhale at most—the urge doesn't infest every inch of me.