{∅, {∅}, {∅, {∅}}} : Rage Against the Meat Grinder

It feels like hatred.  The Will to live, or, I should say, the desire for peace or a minimal degree of satisfaction, which is repeatedly mocked by the unfolding reality, is torment-in-itself.

All children who scream, "I hate this life!"

They express the essence of our shared human condition.   Those who deny their inherent dissatisfaction, the rage and hatred that may erupt in an instant, out of nowhere, are no less vulnerable to the "House of Cards" effect our Holden speaks of.

Yes, it's all a house of cards that can come tumbling down the instant we lose our composure, when the will bumps up against some kind of obstacle, any kind of obstacle.  In other words, CONSTANTLY, repeatedly ...

How is it everyone is not locked away in a psychiatric ward?    They don't have enough rooms!!  That's why.

I just had a thought that may be "common sense" to most, but it was quite a revelation to me.   Maybe this hatred and anger and frustration that comes out of nowhere, this male PMS or this Post Traumatic Slave Disorder, is built into our animal body.  This powerful emotion of hatred might be a component that was necessary in order for our ancestors to kill another living animal for sustenance.   I don't know.

I cried a few angry tears of frustration today and, upon reflection, think that maybe I experienced a nervous breakdown this morning without even knowing what was happening.

I was replacing an inner lever-handle of a storm door, and I became quite agitated when I ran into trouble detaching the old three inch 5/16 spindle.  I ended up tracking down a hack saw, but before that, I went ape-shiit on the thing, at one point hammering my left hand knuckle.

Furious within myself, with no outside provocation.   A self-contained madness-in-itself, the furious tormented demonic clown, I.    Too overwhelmed with my own condition, I must forget about any delusions about any Bodhisattvic inclinations.    No, I will be tormented with all my brothers and sisters of suffering in this cruel joke called life.  We will be united in our common hatred for our own miserable predicament; but we will not be able to help anyone else, since even the Bodhisattvas are at their wits end with their inner misery!