The older I get, the more sensitive I am to the antics of the Roadrunner. That gratuitous violent sarcasm that grips my attention and brings out my inner animal, suddenly gives me a feeling of shame over my desire to see pain inflicted on others. I must be getting soft. The consistent booming sound of Tom and Jerry’s conflicting tension is shocking under a new level of maturing scrutiny. Like rollercoasters shake up the internal organs of an aging body, the repetition of casual violence leads to a sickness; a nauseating vertigo that leaves me hovering over a stinking pool of unnecessary filth. A customary but harmless poison, deeply immersed in my system since childhood, the intravenously supported intake now gushing its non-stop sewage as I continue to require a more substantial daily feeding. My need for vicarious destruction progressed from Popeye to Xbox; from Bad Boys to The Sopranos; from CNN to real live murder and now, these no longer appear to be cartoons but a horrifying alternate lifestyle driven by groups of artificially stimulated sponsors. No longer able to detach myself, their poisonous feeding tube has been fused into my psyche and surgery seems to be my only alternative. Anyone know a Great Physician?
“Hearing you will hear and shall not understand,
And seeing you will see and not perceive;
For the hearts of this people have grown dull.
Their ears are hard of hearing,
And their eyes they have closed,
Lest they should see with their eyes and hear with their ears,
Lest they should understand with their hearts and turn,
So that I should heal them.’” Matthew 13:14-15 (NKJV)
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