i had to stop at my friendly library on the way home to decompress from the day. though i only had three walks, it was a motherfucker excuse my colorful language. that is mild compared to what was uttered at volume under the metra tracks when an enraged autopilot started chasing me for avoiding potholes and riding down the smooth part of the road. he was screaming bloody murder and i could not find my peace that passeth understanding. i found a corresponding rage. while we were having our voluminous civil exchange a dude in fron jumped out the car and started hopping around his arms akimbo like a hoodoo doll yelling bug-eyed i am god! i am god! when the light turned green and i boogied for my life. across the intersection a small crowd of spectators gathered and it was hard to tell what they thought and frankly i was not too curious. i just attribute it to the idiot wind.

rage is chaotic. rage is wilding, on autopilot, looking for the object of rage, sadly, confusedly, attacking the most vulnerable, the eternal other.