| Joy of violence |
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| Written by OG | |
| Sunday, 04 March 2007 | |
 Black Bear, who was an armadillo, and I, a green lizard, were in a valley. Some emergency occurred and we bit each others tail to make a wheel and we rolled to save the day. When we arrived there was no emergency, so we stopped by the building Bee and I bought in The City (Of course, I’m dreaming.) Inside, work crews cleaned the space and painted the walls. The muralist Bee hired painted the upper third of the walls. She gave him free rein to create surrealist cityscapes, and so forth. The work was good, as far a quality goes, but his style evocated a child’s playroom. I fired him immediately. He was not pleased. I tried to explain it was not the quality of his work, but the style. He, a small but overly impassioned man, became hostile. He raised his arm as though to strike me. I punched him in the shoulder as a warning. He became angrier claiming that I did not have any right to touch him. We went back on forth on this as I claimed I was just being preemptive because of his threat. It turned into an ugly mess where I pinned him on the floor, yelling in his face that I would not hit him if he did not hit me. He agreed, only because I was twice his size. He gathered his paint brushes and left the building. Two steps out the door, he laughed contempt. I let it go. Bee was upset at the display of stupid male violence, but that is what we are and what we do. The night before, Black Bear and I spoke at length about the male penchant for violence while sitting in a bar in Valparaiso, a port town in Chile. I believe that overcoming the fear of violence and pain, then finding the joy of violence and subsequent leashing of that joy is a right of passage into manhood. A man who is unwilling to fight because he is afraid to get hurt is a boy no matter his age. A boy who knows the thrill of pain and returning the favor, yet seeks a non-violent life, is a man. The dream ended and I woke. |
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