Frivolity, Reverie, and Shattering Reality

Now I finally got to the bottom of my anger: Aversion to frivolity and hypocrisy. But instead of allowing myself get caught up in the farce, in the bad drama of their choosing, from now on I would just be completely indifferent to the childish game of pretense they're playing.

True contempt leads to indifference and silence, not vehement denunciation. True contempt means saying, you are so fucking stupid, ignorant, and full of shit that I no longer wish to see your fucking face, let alone to have a conversation with you. The only use you have for me is that because of animals like you, I now understand a bit more about human depravity and deception and self-deception.

I would begin the day with a meditation on indifference to their antics, to their playing the victim's game and empty words, to their hypocrisy, to their boring routine of insipid jokes, and finally to their ignorance and tiresome pontification on absolute nonsense.

It is no longer fun to see them mangle, maim, and murder the language they are using to hide their hypocrisy and cowardice. They fancy that they understand me, but do they really? Do they really know that I am all over the map? Do they know I am a study of contradictions, of extremes, of a search for harmony and integration?

I suppose the bastards and bitches don't know right now I'm opening my heart to the positive force, to gentleness, to love, to being proactive instead of reactive....

Roberto is saying the above to himself when the the glass on the driver side explodes, showering shards of glass over him. Startled, he put on the brake, unthinking. Boom, boom, two more shouts rang out; both, like the first, missed him. Shards of glass are now also on the passenger seat. Panting, he feels choked, mouth wide open, trying to take in the air. His mouth is parched. He takes off. His 'Vette weaves through traffic, runs a red right, horns blared and tires squealing. In fact he wants to be stopped by a traffic cop. Where the cops now, when I need them, he says. The freeway. Fast. Be careful. Don't have an accident. He overtakes one red car, cuts over, changes two lanes to the right, running down the short entrance ramp. No traffic jam please. He prays. Traffic is light, as it should be at this time of the night. He looks in the rearvier mirror and then the two on the sides. No car follows him as he changes lanes to left, backs to middle, and then to right. They were probably on foot. Lousy shooters. Could be just one. But who? He fumbles for the cell phone.

"Silvio. Listen up. Sombody just took a shot at me. I'm okay. Don't know who it was. Am on I-15, heading north. You're right. I'm thinking the same thing. Will call you back in a few minutes."

(cont.)