last night...a diatribe...

And so he strikes again: boasting about his so called toughness and declaring the root cause of every suffering that we experience, demanding audience with the tormentor, bringing nothing but a piece of wood. Like the cavemen of old, banging on the skulls of their enemies as they continue to become more and more inebriated. What have you brought back with you? What have you gained in the mountains? Have you become as primitive as the people you have lived with for so short a time?

It is the curse of simplicity. When problems get too complicated, the simple man turns to simple means, not understanding the complexity of the consequence of his actions. And what of the people who get affected? What of the people who cannot do anything but stand and watch as the cavemen bare their testicles and brandish their wooden clubs? Maybe this is the cause of all violence. When a man becomes threatened, he turns to the only thing he can: his balls, and his wooden club.

How many times have I seen it? The uncontrollable wrath of the drunkard is as dangerous as swimming wounded in the sea with sharks. He cannot understand anything else aside from his instinct. Confrontation is his only option because he cannot solve the real problems. He can only be the simpleton again. He is powerless and he knows it. Yet his pride gets the better of him. Drink fool. Drink the potion of our doom. For it is not you alone that you are damning with your foolishness. You are damning us all.

Death is the end of all fear.