I know you're frightened...

So When I started this blog, I promised myself I'd keep personal things to minimum...

Not really happening this time around. Such is life.

Last night was a fairly eventful evening. Went to the bar for the first time in a while, and it was nice. Not a lot of spiteful looks, not a lot of angered ex-friends, just a few relaxing drinks. I should have just called it an evening, but no, a friend invited me out to an afterhours spot.


I'll be honest right now. I hate being sober around drunk people. I hate it.

No letting this chummer off the leash, I'll be the first to admit my own vice causes my greatest problems. But when someone is to the point of absolute intoxication, damn is it annoying when they won't listen to reason.

This friend was set on getting into a fight the whole night, to which I almost played an accomplice in. Good lord. I'm not going to go into it entirely, as the sensible, cunning, charming , and incredibly sexy lad I am tells me its not a good plan to publicly publish incriminating items in a widely accessible medium. Suffice to say, it got bad fast, with this chump who was on my friend's nerves almost getting into it with me.

I pride myself on being a practicing nonviolent. A lot of people take that to mean a lack of skill with violence. Some go as far to say it is an effeminate quality.

Yeah, see me caring a whole lot about that. The farther I've gone alone the path of business has given me an amazing amount of apathy towards opinion directed at me from others, which is invaluable quality to keep around oneself, especially in tight situations.

I'll put that to rest right now. I have no need to prove myself to anyone, except those I deem necessary. Avoiding violence is the virtue of the competent, and those who strive to move past raw instinctual reactivity to a higher level of play.

The point I tried so desperately to impart onto my comrade was that while violence isn't the best of solutions, if he felt that he needed to resort to it then so be it. Absolutely. Do what you have to do.

But wait until the opportune moment. Thanks for that Disney. It rapidly became a favorite motto, and was adopted into my life's ethos. Good lord, I did not think it would be so hard to reach someone else in this regard.

"But You don't understand. I'm hood. This is how its gotta be. I can't feel like a bitch in my own home."

I can understand that.

The problem with a lot of youth... and even those who are older than me, especially from the more neglected areas of our fine society... which are truly far from neglected. Welfare indeed!

I digress. The problem is a lack of proper focus. I hate to sit on a high horse, but you show me a single "Ghetto" hoodrat who can move their goddamn head out of a heated moment and think of a year down the road, and I'll give you my firstborn son.

To elaborate... This chap I was dealing with was focusing on current opinion of him. Of events that had already happened. I'll say that again. The attention was on current opinion and past events.

That's why he fails.

Yes I dislike violence, but I have a finely toned and discretely nourished sense of wrath, and know that revenge is best served with absolute brutality. No remorse.

This is what I couldn't get across to my misguided fellow. Who CARES about current opinion. Let go of the past.

Guess what happens if you go off half cocked right now. Everyone knows it was you. No one has any doubt. Legal repercussions hit you hard. Violence is practiced against your family in retaliation.

Well done. Opinion of you hasn't changed, probably has become worse.

But if you just fucking WAIT. Deal with people calling you a bitch. DEAL with people not showing you respect.

You wait until its old news. You keep that hate buried deep inside, and let it fester into loathing, and then into pure, blissful wrath. You plan, and you plot, and then you take everything from your opponent. Follow Sun Tzu. Follow Machiavelli.

You wait until the opportune moment, and your foe loses everything. You put such a fear into him that he cowers at every shadow. You take so much that he is left in ruin, desolate and without hope for recovery. You wound him so deeply that death is preferable to living with the scars of this battle... and the best part is he never figures out who did this to him, or why it happened.

That's the sweetness of revenge. The nectar of joyous victory. For the rest of his days, he'll be consumed by figuring out how this happened, why him. You ruin his mind with fear and worry, and devastate his person.

But you can only do that if you bloody wait.

Patiently yours
Nicodemus