11 March, 2005
the jackass may travel far, but he will not return as a horse.

the preface to what could have been.

primary among my failings is a leap to conclusions... occasionally, the barest of evidence confirms that which my mind wishes to believe. and then... the veil of red descends. and then, it's time to get down... someone will be hurt. and it won't be me.

this errant stroll down pathways strewn with the mirage of blood-red petals begins with a neighbor.

everyone's had one. the Beast. the Bully. ignorant to all wishes save his own... unless expedient. the schmoozer. the wife-beater... physically. the child beater... verbally. who once threatened to throw down with me, on my own steps, after days of unexpected and unbidden intrusion when i asked for it to stop. the type that pontificates continuously, chauvinistically, and imperoiusly against the world... and thinks inaction is acceptance.

that was the first footstep on the path.

the second, a week ago. this time, his hair-trigger was tripped by someone who innocently cleared the drive after the last big snow... a call to me came immediately after, seeking my alliance to berate the samaritan for disturbing the gravel. i refused, and was rewarded with a slammed receiver when i was speaking.

fast forward to Sunday.

preparing to light the grill on an uncommonly warm evening, i bent down to loosen the gas valve, and notice the jets crimped violently with what appeared to be the serrated trace of pliers.

ever see KillBillVol1? recall the siren-like Ironsides soundtrack when shit was about to hit the fan? that's what i heard... and my eyes turned rouge with ire. spit. violence. getback.
which i let mellow to a low blaze when i returned, today.

further inspecting and evaluating the damage, it looked more like toothmarks from some animal that noticed the traces of grease from past grillings.

perhaps i mistook one animal for another.

yet, i still do not doubt that this is something this person would do, so erratic and volatile his persona.

only the volatility do i recognize.

game over. paused, more precisely.

senses returned, i begin to notice the life around me. colour returning. life restoring: a clutch of lemon-yellow daffodils... the hesitant eruptions of variegated purple and stark white crocus... the haze of magenta buds on tree branches.

sobering, the schemes for retribution my mind can create when injustice is either real or imagined.
stranger, the clarity and serenity after violence is averted.

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