When you become pure rage you might unplug your outside from your inside, disengage your person from your body in such a way that you can still blink and nod, smile and answer questions, drive calmly through traffic, waiting patiently in the hope that you might eventually burn out and someone else will rise again from your own inner ashes. Until then, you might bide your time keeping busy with the mundane shuffling and sorting of the memos and receipts of smaller duties, putting them all into neat stacks, reorganizing and combining, culling and separating, ordering and shredding. Avoid matters of the spirit or soul, aspirations and dreams, reminders of too little time and too few resources, of the galling silence of gods who couldn't be bothered to exist. While you are distracted, throw everything you love and believe into the fire. Paint over the blackened places with forgetfulness and denial. Tell yourself you are other than you were. Make it as true as you can. One night you might go to sleep and someone else will wake up the next morning, blinking away the dissolving dream that was you from the sleep that you shared. Don't weep for the loss of yourself. Dry your eyes and say instead, "This body is just a house where people live and all of us that live here are me."
Hello, friend. I hope you're well.
Later. Love.
