Tag Archives: anger

Cover songs and other oddities

“Originality? It’s over-rated at best and at worst deeply limited. It’s also mis-understood. So you think that fan fiction is derivative? That the covers band that entertained the pub last night weren’t credible creative artists? That any artist working in a genre they didn’t create is simply pastiche? Seriously? I guess nothing’s original, right? There’s no point trying to come up with anything because all of the good ideas have already been explored? You know what? Fuck you! Fuck your petty bourgeois reactionary rationalism! Fuck everything you’ve ever thought! How fucking dare you tell anyone else what is valid as art? What the fuck do you think makes you judge, jury and fucking executioner over what is and isn’t original or acceptable different or worthy? I’m done with fucking arseholes pontificating on subjects about which they know precisely half of fuck all!” 

I took a swig from the dark, black, bitter, burnt coffee, swallowing the lukewarm dregs with a grimace,

“Enough already! Fucking makes me sick, bunch of fucking deeply unpleasant pricks!”

I blushed as I realised that the background volume of chatter in the coffee shop had fallen away as my rant had increased in intensity and ferocity, my vitriol overtaking any self-esteem issues just as the power and passion that inspired writers, singers, artists to revisit and recreate the glorious work of their idols and heroes, their muses overwhelms their natural instinct to try to create something unique, the dark desires awoken by a chance discovery, the need to do it again only better, harder, faster, deeper, softer whatever. I slump in my seat, drained as the adrenalin flooding my system abates. She smiles, acknowledging that she has once again coped with my outburst, coped with the strange passions and behaviours of her friend, coped with being my friend….


“Trouble with you is you never know when to stop!”

I can’t comprehend a mind that thinks this statement is anything other than confrontational, a charge of lack of compassion, understanding, the words cutting to the heart of someone who, by nature find understanding challenging and works to make sure it doesn’t happen, yet what can I do? To respond is to prove the point, to seek that confrontation that is being offered. A logical pratfall, a baited trap to see if I’ll bite? What is your purpose? Your reason?

My mind a whirl, kaleidoscoping colours of emotion, the reds of anger, dark violets of despair, cool blues as I fight to retain control, to shackle my errant tongue as ever fibre of my being screams…

“NO! That isn’t how it is! You don’t understand! That isn’t the case at all!”

So I breath, in and out, focusing on each breath, not counting to ten but the effect is the same as I turn, smiling, utterly controlled, and walking away, I win….

After the storm

Tear streaked faces, makeup smeared by heart-rending sobs, tears of anger and remorse, pain-wrenched from eyes too used to crying. The argument started over nothing, an inconsequential throwaway line, but coming at a period of emotional intensity, the wrong words at the wrong time. The consequences of a breakdown in communication, a lack of empathy perhaps, the careless uncaring attitudes of people too used to a comfortable status quo.

The guilt hits hard, the words, now spoken impossible to withdraw, spoken in anger, the honest wrought by passion making them bite even harder, cutting to the bone, wounds that can not heal, scars that will last a lifetime and more. There is no safe path back from this precipice, only the void of empty loneliness awaits, the packed bags of lives shattered by a moments thoughtlessness. The result? Freedom, at a price, but freedom just the sameā€¦