I am angry...an angry man. My freedom was taken from me...and for what? Could be it my unruly hair? Be that a crime? These wispy tendrils growing out of my head cannot be tamed...like my love of Grindcore... or my need to collect glass pipes in a drawer... or my tempestuous relationship with the films of Hal Hartley.
Or was it my lack of a complete set of teeth? When did it become a crime to have one of your teeth rot out of your head? So I chose not to replace it. What if I was a hockey player and after receiving a powerful cross-check, my tooth was released from its perch in my gum line. Maybe, when I went on sabbatical from my job at the gun rage (where I sweep up exhausted shells) I lost my insurance and Cobra didn't cover my dental needs, so I was forced to let nature take its ugly, cruel course. Find me the crime in that! I dare you!
And so I scream; for the injustice that has been done to me. Yes, I was arrested. And yes, they fingerprinted me and took my booking photo. And yes, when the civil servant working at the police dispatching center told me they were going to snap my picture, a powerful roar erupted from within me. Imagine Roger Daltrey hitting that primordial scream at the apex of "Won't Get Fooled Again" and mix it with the sound a child makes when he accidentally steps on an exposed nail, running on a porch in Cape Cod while on vacation with his family, ruining their summer fun with a trip to the hospital and a dreaded 'tetanus' shot. My word, I hated those summer on the Cape.
Let my call not go unheard.
As they wiped the spittle from my lip, rapped my temple with a club, and took their rubber gloved hands to my torso, forcing me into a dank, miserable holding cell, the words of Dylan Thomas echoed throughout my methamphetamine and Coors Light riddled brain:
"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Rage, indeed!
No comments:
Post a Comment