Noun: homburg (plural homburgs) – Alternative form of Homburg.
It’s no wonder I’m of “Generation Strawberry,” given how easily I bruise. One story I’m following just took a rather dramatic turn amid a flashback. To summarize: friendship, discovery of vicious child abuse, confusion, more confusion, confused spurning out of fear, very sad, more feels, crying.
The chapter ends with the poor little girl sitting on the ground, crying hysterically in a way that makes me want to jump in front of a bus with poisoned spikes all over its front.
It may be an acquired condition – Mom still remembers the day I came home from school, really sad that Timothy wanted to play with somebody else. And perhaps that has ever since spiraled out menacingly to provide a Holden-Caulfield protective instinct. Children are sacred creatures – to violate one is an unspeakable crime. The cold fury that Elphaba spoke of (in Wicked: The Life and Times of the Witch of the West) is well-developed in my personality. I first felt it, full-force, some night when Sis went to a school dance. After midnight (I think), we got a very calm call from her that they’d had a small car accident (they’d rear-ended another car) on the expressway. The three of us made all speed to the scene, and I glowered as hard as I’d ever done at the responsible driver. How dare she endanger my sister, hang the consequences and hang your car, but how dare you shirk your responsibility to my family?
I was the resident creepy boy that night. In retrospect it was pretty unfair for me to be so angry at the driver (she herself was distraught), but it gave me a strong bearing on my emotional compass. The same sheet of hail and frigid wind assailed my senses in an episode of Sherlock, when the CIA came and took Mrs. Hudson hostage. I remember egging Sherlock on in my mind: Yes! Yes! Tie that bastard to a chair, hang him and international law. That’ll show him. No, no! Don’t call Lestrade, you’ll ruin all the fun! What’s that? Ha-HA! YES! Pitch him out your window a couple times, that’ll show him! Do it! DO it for Mrs. Hudson and all the terror they dared do to the poor old woman.
I was distinctly disappointed when Sherlock left it at throwing him out the window a few times. I had hoped for impromptu castration at the least, maybe disembowelment on the side. I channeled a really vengeful hate for that man (who holds the same passport that I do), despite the great likelihood that he was only doing good for the law.
A few weeks ago, at supper in the dining commons, I realized that the feeling of protectiveness spiked greatly when it came to my family. I (disturbingly) described a wanton cruelty that rose within me when it came to the thought of someone who might raise a hand against those who are closest to me. It was a surge that bordered on psychopathy.
This confuses me in my rational state. I think I’m quite against the death penalty, and I most certainly don’t condone torture. The eye-for-an-eye (or worse) principle is completely stupid, and I understand the general logic as to why it’s stupid. And yet, I find myself completely dumbfounded as to why I shed all reason when my brain sets up a simulation in which a villain might harm my loved ones.
(Even more odd is my unusual passiveness for almost any abuse done to me. I don’t think I’ve been actually angry at somebody for a personal wrong in several years. It simply doesn’t escalate beyond a minor annoyance anymore. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but you’ll never really get me mad. No, nor with words.)
If things ever came down to the knife, though, I wouldn’t be able to do it – I COULDN’T ever kill somebody, even given complete anarchy, perfect justification, and zero chance of retribution.
There are a few things that I hold sacred, in no particular order: human life, my family, children, and the general happiness of people and animals alike. My morals (shabby and poorly kept as they are) revolve around these and several other lesser factors.
My God. Seven hundred words for a simple post where I wanted to whine about a chapter of a manga I’m following. I’m feeling really, really rotten right now, and I need some sunshine and rainbows to cheer me up.
Now playing: Polonaise in A flat major Op. 53 (6:51)
by Rafał Blechacz, Fryderyk Chopin
The 15th International Fryderyk Chopin Piano Competition – Disc 6 – Rafał Blechacz – 1st & 2nd Round recordings – Track 13/20