Category Archives: Anger management

CONVERSATION OF A DANGEROUS KIND

September Eleven

CONVERSATION OF A DANGEROUS KIND.

 

Person One:  So whaddaya think? Did I do a good job or a GREAT job?

Person Two: Looks  to me like a pretty good job, Number One, but there’s still more to do.

Person One: SCREAM & HOLLER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Person Two: Note: The punishment did not fit the crime. SCREAM & HOLLER LOUDER !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
.

Explanation: Person One is in a trance with instructions to scream ever so loudly, in response to anything said by Person Two no matter how appropriate,

Person Two is in a trance with instructions to respond to any Screamer by being a MUCH LOUDER SCREAMER.

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ABOUT HEARTACHE HENRY

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ABOUT HEARTACHE HENRY
A conversation between Curious Abner and The Psychedelic Toad.


Psycho:
I hear you had a quarrel with Heartache Henry. Are you guys okay with each other?

Curio: Not really. He doesn’t seem to know what happened.

Psycho: So, what happened?

Curio: Well. Hell; the darn fool screamed at me.

Psycho: Wow, that must have been kinda scary; Did he hit you?

Curio: No… He just screamed at me like some kinda lunatic. That’s the second time in four years that he’s done that to me. So how is old Cranky Hanky anyway.

Psycho: He says you’re a bully and that you spend a lot of time and energy getting people to do everything your way. He says it is very stressful for him.

Curio: Well Dang it Toad, why doesn’t he say something.

Psycho: According to him he has... twice.

Curio: (Oh…)

ITS ALL GOOD

thanksgiving, komorne hurka, zimichka 102

If nothing new is written, the absence is noted by a few.

When reports are polished and gleam with the sheen of community bias

When Leaders are replaced  by the best followers

Growth subsides and are noted by a few.

 

When discovery is recorded,

When an artist emerges

When a science project reveals a new idea

When  Huff  reports the remarks of a 118 yr old lady whose wrinkles are attractive

We all feel safer.

And we return to what we were doing minutes before

The previously tight abs,

The shallow breathing,

The furrowed brow.

And, we relax.

 

It’s all good says  Daughter Dixie.

Love ya Grampa says DD’s Melissa

Autistic Noah smiles

And life goes on.

 

 

ITS ALL GOOD

thanksgiving, komorne hurka, zimichka 102

If nothing new is written, the absence is noted by a few.

When reports are polished and gleam with the sheen of community bias

When Leaders are replaced  by the best followers

Growth subsides and are noted by a few.

 

When discovery is recorded,

When an artist emerges

When a science project reveals a new idea

When  Huff  reports the remarks of a 118 yr old lady whose wrinkles are attractive

We all feel safer.

And we return to what we were doing minutes before

The previously tight abs,

The shallow breathing,

The furrowed brow.

And, we relax.

 

It’s all good says  Daughter Dixie.

Love ya Grampa says DD’s Melissa

Autistic Noah smiles

And life goes on.

 

 

ITS ALL GOOD

thanksgiving, komorne hurka, zimichka 102

If nothing new is written, the absence is noted by a few.

When reports are polished and gleam with the sheen of community bias

When Leaders are replaced  by the best followers

Growth subsides and are noted by a few.

 

When discovery is recorded,

When an artist emerges

When a science project reveals a new idea

When  Huff  reports the remarks of a 118 yr old lady whose wrinkles are attractive

We all feel safer.

And we return to what we were doing minutes before

The previously tight abs,

The shallow breathing,

The furrowed brow.

And, we relax.

 

It’s all good says  Daughter Dixie.

Love ya Grampa says DD’s Melissa

Autistic Noah smiles

And life goes on.

 

 

BULLIES AND THEIR VICTIMS (ATLAPIO)

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Bullies are not always what they seem to be. They can be noisy and threatening – that’s to be expected. But often they are quiet; the Extortionist for example…“I’ll tell, unless”…

Sometimes the threat does not even have to be voiced.

The victim often pretends not to hear and tolerates the threats. But sooner or later the bully needs to reign in their victim to test their controls.  Perhaps a gift is involved. And the victim says “Thank you” and soon after comes the quiet threat… “Don’t complain or I’ll tell”…

At some point the victim reaches their tolerance threshold and they do in fact, complain; the accumulation of taunts and threats has had its toll and the victim cries out. “Stop it”. That cry is often quite loud and the victim sounds like a bully.

Meanwhile, the real bully tells those whose judgment will follow “See, I told you so” and to the victim “You brought it on yourself.” And the victim becomes compliant in a quiet attempt to repair the damage and becomes yet more of a victim and the bully plans the next move.

I’m talking about a problem that is familiar to many, if not most families. But the bully pulpit exists also in government, industry and society in general.

In families the bully and the victim each lose their feeling of safety. It is that search for safety that motivates us; we wrestle for pecking order; governments raise taxes often creating more problems than were meant to be solved; industry raises prices and lose business which results in cutting costs and with it, jobs and quality of goods; our search for safety included getting the best possible education in order to get the best possible job and the world went into a recession and we lost our pecking order. We looked around to note when the feathers quit flying and we began again, this time in a call center for minimum wage. And people came out of their cubicles and out onto the streets shouting “Stop it” and the Victim “became” the Bully.

Those of us who include ourselves in this drama seldom notice that the solution was always right in plain sight.

Ignore the bully.

Accept the Love and pass it on…

First to the bully…

Then to the mirror…

And then to society at large…

ATLAPIO…

Accept the Love and pass it on.

‘Tis the Season

Lee in Paradise

A true story as first told in 1956 by the person whose story it is and who prefers to remain anonymous.

(“What the…..Why is it so hot in here? It’s so damned hot I can’t sleep. What was I dreaming about? Damn it all to hell, shit. Sumbitch..

Shit, shit , shit, shit, shit.

I’m on fire!.”)

He opened his eyes. He was covered with ripped and torn pages of newspapers and magazines  all of which were burning;  the scraps of paper were ablaze, his jumpsuit was  afire,  he was  on fire.

He rose from his bunk, twirling, whirling, spinning around like a maddened dervish, pounding out flames, slapping his chest, stomping on the still burning pages, cursing as his seven noisy bunkmates yelled with laughter, mimicking their angered, vociferous victim as they had done at other fun times in previous siestas.

On his last spin his right foot connected with Cherry’s chin and the laughter stopped.

“What happened then? This Cherry fellow must have really been annoyed” I remarked.

“You got that right; within seconds both my arms were being pinned behind me by Cherry’s thugs. Within minutes I was being represented by a cellmate as Cherry himself conducted a kangaroo court.

There wasn’t actually a court; one of Cherry’s goons read the charge of malicious personal injury to our self-elected cell boss and stated that these charges could be reversed in hand-to-hand combat. If I could physically overcome the warrior of Cherry’s Choice in a battle for limited freedom and possibly for my life, they would quit harassing me.

Cherry declared himself as my opponent. We would spar during the evening meal which always took place in a larger cell referred to as the Day Room. There were three full cells in this cellbloc which held eight occupants each. I would have an audience of 31 inmates.

How could I do this? My hands were nearly useless. At least Cherry had a sore jaw which would help to even things up.

I’d been in a similar situation in a previous jail where I had been charged with loitering. Had it not been for the results of my participation in a one-on-one struggle for possession of my shoes, a contest in which justice had prevailed at the expense of my attacker’s consciousness, I would have been free by now. As it happened,  a new charge  would free me from the city jail only to find myself behind county bars; had I surrendered my shoes I would have served a scant week or more after which I would have been free. As it was I had already spent three months awaiting trial on new charges.

With the help of a couple of sympathizers my hands were wrapped in towels, though I realized that the cotton protection would be of little use; I needed an alternate plan.

As we were being transferred to the larger room I decided not to wait until after dinner and went back over my plan. As soon as we had been served and the trustees were gone I would charge with my feet. And I did.

As my left foot connected with Cherry’s patella my adversary shouted at the pain in his injured kneecap and fell to the floor. My moment of triumph was quickly interrupted however by those members of Cherry’s enterage  who had apparently formulated some alternative plans of their own. From the left I detected a sneak attack in progress. I whirled around to meet two new opponents and kicked the one on the left in the mouth; as he went down I grappled with his partner. Unable to use my hands I remembered some advice from a cellmate, ‘if you can’t use your hands, use your feet; if you’re too close to use your feet, use your teeth.’ And I dined on a greasy earlobe.”

Wresting the grisly gob of human flesh from its owner, the young warrior  spat it out. At that point the room became a cacophony of troubled screams and multiple blows to his head and body. As he went down he described  his head being stomped on and kicked about.

Darkness prevailed.

On the following day he awoke in a hospital bed. A nurse explained that he had been unconscious for 27 hours.

“What day is this?” he asked.

“Today is Christmas.”  Came the reply. “You have two Christmas presents.”

“Where are they?”

“First, let me show you what you look like” replied the lady in the nurse’s cap and she held a mirror to his face.

“So, what did you look like” I asked. “That was only a year ago. You look fine now”.

“I gasped. My heart sank. What I saw in that mirror was a badly beaten stranger; all my features were so swollen that I recognized only my hair. The nurse lady with the  mirror  informed me that the skin was not broken and that no stitches had been taken.

I continued to look at the stranger in the mirror, looking for something familiar. Eventually I asked for my Christmas presents.”

“You already have them” she told me. “For one thing, you’re still alive and secondly you’re being released on your own recognizance. Your parents will be here to take you home tomorrow morning. Merry Christmas.”