The Cyclical Nature of Destruction to Self & Others

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
“On the surface of course you have a title like “Prison Sex” which brings up all kinds of apprehension and fear in most people, because they’re not looking any deeper than just the words. They’re looking at just the words and they’re thinking about a couple of hairy backed men finding love in closed quarters, and that’s not what it’s about at all. It’s about the cycles of abuse. It’s about recognizing those cycles and it’s about addressing them and noticing whether or not you are now the perpetrator, whether you are continuing on this cycle in some way by victimizing yourself repeatedly or being a victim, or by being a perpetrator---and that’s the first step, recognizing that cycle.”

-Maynard James Keenan in an interview with a Toronto radio station in 1997

-Cycle of Violence
painting by Zeina Barakeh

Submitted: November 06, 2011

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Submitted: November 06, 2011

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where one fist is thrown

another will see the knuckles displayed &

with each connection the rage from one

primate to the next comes spiraling downward---

there is a visceral reaction that brings the

onlooker back & if they are not sufficiently

distracted,

the cycle turns in motion like a perpetual machine

wherein the verbal fight in the workplace becomes

steam driven in the car to the pub after work wher

a skirmish ensues over the inability to release

stress through the affection of a sexual partner to be

discovered there,

instead, out into the parking lot,

with muscles thrusting, teeth gnashing &

all the feelings of the day sharpened & honed

right down to the tip of a needle---

where these bolts of distress & ferocity come from,

so buried deep inside, so much of our shared

animal state,

be it whatever way the energy bursting inside needs

to come out,

it will, without permission,

without cessation.

 

the pounding of another’s face,

the violence brought down like a hammer to a nail,

bashing relentlessly,

sends off lightening inside

erasing all consequences for a moment &

if it doesn’t go away outside,

it can be brought home---

in the illusion of comfortable peace found in the

american gothical bliss,

a maniacal jester laughs to itself

just behind the eyes &

the terror comes again.

 

this time, between two who once praised each other

in love,

now with tables turned comes the beating,

through only words or physical abuse,

the nature ripens & to any onlookers in the house

(primarily family), the destructor grows.

in destroying those around one, the claim is made

that the self is breaking down as well,

that the chaos in such a world is simply

self-replicating,

something that will not die &

instead, will only blossom,

like the eggs of a cockroach spreading out to

create more cockroaches,

when the foot slams down to squish.

 

so onlooker learns the trade from onlookers

who stepped out one night to paint the town with

beatings & harsh words---

round & round & round the wheel goes &

where it will stop

(one would have to believe that it can in fact stop,

in order to finish this piece with the clichéd greeting

card-ish rhyme to be expected).


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