igordog

Intimacy with Violence.


Three or so weeks ago, Im driving to a party.



I had just come from martial arts class.

I had run home to shower and change, and my muscles were still hot and I was still flush with adrenaline, when I jumped into the car to go to the party.



I was driving down an unlit street in Venice, when a couple crossed the street in front of me. The woman had crossed first. She was wearing all black; and were it not for the man, who wore a white wife-beater, I wouldn't have seen either of them at all.



I managed to stop my car quickly about fifteen feet from the pair. The guy starts posturing. Yelling. Cussing

He holds out his arms wide, my music is playing loudly, but I can read his attitude and gestures. He's challenging me, insulting me, and seething hostility.



I know that I was the asshole here. I scarred him and his girl, and they had a right to be angry. So, I raise my hand and bow my head in apology, and mouth the words, "Sorry..."



I begin to drive past him. The woman had already gone into her home, but the guy is still posturing. He holds his arms wide in an invitation to confront him, and I notice that he's holding a twelve pack of beer bottles.



I drive a little further, and he spits on my car. My mind tells me that he's just called me a coward.

I slam on my breaks. I find myself unable to tolerate his continued hostility in the wake of my apology. He doubles his efforts in insulting me and begins to approach my car.



I've trained martial arts for ten years. I've trained to fight while angry; I've trained to fight while my opponent is angry. Ive fought with pro-boxers in unlit alleys. I've trained in darkened parking lots; I've trained knives, sticks, fists, knees and elbows. I can ground-fight, I can fence, I can use an opponents t-shirt to choke them into unconsciousness. I can render an opponent impotent with well-practiced looks in my eye and tones of conviction in my voice.



I am well prepared for a fight... I could obliterate this drunken ass in seconds.



I'm not even looking at the guy now as he approaches my car. I'm looking at down at my ipod I cant look at the guy, it would make me too angry to read the insults from his lips.





Fifteen years ago, a 330 lbs psychopath whom I had considered my friend attacked me. He strangled me into unconsciousness. Ironicly, he was attempting to kill me over an argument about morality. If his friends hadn.t pulled him off of me, he would have murdered me.



I am intimate with violence, and I know that pacifism can leave you dead when facing a sociopath. I know that a moral code labels you a victim if it doesn.t consider the reality of violence.



I've trained boxing for six years with an ex-professional boxer who suffered from post-traumatic-stress-disorder from his time in Vietnam. I've heard his stories, I've seen him break down in tears. I've heard him confess as to how many people died at his hands, and at how many friends he'd watched die in his arms...



He was intimate with violence and he trained both my fighting skills and my heart and morals as he shared his insight with me...



As a child, I'd watched my drunken father, on a cocktail of barbiturates and vodka, rage around the room; destroying every piece of furniture in his reach, and kicking down every door in his way...

I'd seen him punch people into unconsciousness with a single strike, I've seen him leave people with black swollen eyes and split bleeding lips and missing teeth. I've seen him walk through a plate glass window without even slowing down (terminator-style), in pursuit of a security guard who had cornered me and was yelling at me.

As a child, he was my hero... as an adult, I see him as a child... A victim to his own passion and rage.



I am intimate with violence. I know its futility and pathetic nature. I've never performed an act of violence in my adult life.





I can hear the guy at my car window now. He's still yelling. He thinks hes a bad ass. He's holding the twelve pack like a clumsy weapon. I could still take him out before he could ever even landed a hit.





I'm preparing myself now. I'm getting ready to face this drunken assholes anger. I'm running scenarios through my head. I'm planning escape routs. My muscles are hot, my hands are steady, but my heart is pounding against my ribs. I'm frightened but resolute.



Is this the moment? Is this what I trained for for ten years? Am I going to have to explain my bloody scabbed knuckles to my friends? Am I going to have to hide behind some concept of personal honor to explain why I attacked this guy? Will my martial arts instructor still respect me after learning that I beat a guy up for what essentially was a matter of pride?



It's stupid... It's not worth it.. It'd be the act of a child... And I am not a child...



I turn down my music.

I still haven't even looked at this guy since he walked up to my window. I haven't even looked at this guy, except through my rear view mirror, since I first started to drive away I turn to him, but still wont look him in the eyes. It would make me too angry to see the hate in his eyes.

I can smell his alcohol fueled bravado and his fear fueled adrenaline... I taste the brassy flavored bile that fills your mouth when you feel real fear; but I'm stronger than my fear, my hands would do anything that I told them too.

I unroll my window... I could still take him out. I could defeat him, and I could feed the caveman desire within me to see him quiver in bleeding and whimpering semi-consciousness at my feet.



Without ever having looked him in the eye, I speak with restrained anger...



"I apologize." I say through clentched teeth...




He responds with, "Well, thats what I'm talking about!" And then storms off.



I'm intimate with violence, and know its effects, and I know its not worth it. It's not even worth defending my honor against a drunken idiot like this.



He'll never realize that I wasnt afraid... that I could have kicked his ass. I was ready to fight. The demons inside of me wanted to fight. He'll never realize what it took for me not to attack him... He'll never know that I dont need alcohol to bolster my bravery in the face of violence.

I let him go to his drunken little party and tell his drunken friends how he just scared the shit out of me, and left me trembling and driving away in fear... He'll tell is friends that I was a pussy... that I was a coward...



I'd I let him go and do it...



So I write this here.

Maybe in an attempt to gain affirmation for my actions... maybe as a lesson to those who maintain childhood inspired concepts of the nature of violence... maybe to tell people that its not like it is in the movies...



Maybe my ego is weak, and I need to hear people tell me that I'm the good guy, and I seized a victory by never throwing a punch... Maybe I want to hear people tell me that I'm the hero even though I allowed the villain to abuse my honor and ego...