A Blog About Punching People In the Face


In Thoughts by Tyson on January 5, 2011 at 7:50 am

At some point, everything is fighting. Getting up is fighting. Going to bed is fighting. Eating is fighting. Sex is fighting. Fighting is fighting.

After fighting, everything else in your life gets the volume turned down. Pain is my friend and follows me around until I lapse into unconsciousness. It stings my skin, and I as I feel the scrapes of last night’s sparring session, the scars of some not-so-distant humiliation, I can, in my more sublime moments, transcend the pain and become something else.

There comes a point at which fighting is the only thing in this world that makes sense. In a way, you can’t imagine your life without it, because life itself is too boring: the sound of the telephone ringing, the sound of the neighbor’s footsteps on the hardwood floor above you, the traffic and the looks from people at the office, probably innocent but maybe not, these things become a species of violence: one that can only be met with more, senseless violence. There is no reason for what we do, no meaning beyond punching meat, over and over again, and in the absence of any justification, such violence becomes the truest thing there is.


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