2003-01-06

Went out with a few friends on Saturday night to go and see "Bowling for Columbine". I ended up sitting out on the street bawling my eyes out, my pals not knowing which way to look. They were horrified that i was that affected by a movie. But it wasn't the movie that got me all shook up. It was me. My apathy. My fear. That's what makes all that shit possible - being afraid, not doing anything, just letting it all go past because it is too hard to deal with.

So when I finally got home it took me a while to calm down (several cups of tea and half a pack of cigarettes). Then I wanted to kill Charlton Heston for being a complete blind stupid arsehole. Then I wanted to call up Michael Moore and ask him how it felt to go and talk to all those people. Then I just wanted to crawl into a dark hole and sleep for thirty years. And then I just wrote and wrote and wrote in my old journal, filling pages with observations and memories and wishes and fears and purging it all onto paper. A big wad of paper vomit, scribbled excreta, brain effluent.

And now I feel better, but I still want to pop a cap in Charlton's arse. I don't fear guns, in fact I own a couple and am a member of a pistol shooting association. But I don't carry one with me, and I don't sleep with one under my pillow, and I sure as hell wouldn't kill a person with it, not even in self defence. But the culture of fear has crept into my life, and I didn't realise it until this movie shone a big fuck-off light in my eyes and went "See?". So no more useless fear. No more apathy. And no more movies with friends for a while.

The problem of thinking continues. Om mani padme hum, folks, and a compassionate thought for you all.

bitch - moan