Mockery Not Glockery: Why I Must Become A Lone-Wolf Terrorist, Part 1

Adam Lanza was not born a monster…

…He became one. He was born as innocent as any of us — a slippery, naked, screaming victim of that naive and narcissistic parental urge to feel validated by a child. Though I recoil as much as anyone at the monster he eventually became, my heart sincerely breaks for the baby he was born; it breaks every bit as much as it does for the 20 children and 6 adults which that baby eventually grew up to murder. If this “sympathy for the Devil” that I feel for baby Adam seems aberrant or repellent or frightening or like a good reason to reject me, then you too have my sympathies, because that strongly suggests that you are at least as arbitrarily harsh and judgmental not just with yourself, but especially to those who struggle to love you. If that’s a true statement about you, then I sincerely hope one day you find your way to accepting whatever it is about yourself that you only imagine to be so awful.

After all, we are each of us only human.

Oh, Relax, Please, I’m Not “literally” Becoming a Lone-Wolf Terrorist!

lone_sheep_316x210

Beware the lone wolf! (Kidding! It’s just a sheep. Awww, givess a kiss, Mr. Sheep.) Image Credit: Pixabay

In case you haven’t heard, last year I got gang raped, but “only” in a figurative sense. This year I’ve decided to let that nasty ordeal transform me into a lone wolf terrorist, but also “only” in a figurative sense.[1]

That seems fair to me. Nobody literally gang raped me, so I’m thinking I really shouldn’t let a “merely metaphorical” gang rape transform me into some actual lone wolf terrorist. Holy cow, yeah, that would definitely be taking things too far!

And just like my rapists did not literally gang rape me, but rather “only” violated my Civil Rights, well, I too have something that I’m going to do quite literally, but which I think can be fairly characterized — figuratively speaking, mind you — as lone-wolf terrorism.

Once again, that’s SO TO SPEAK lone-wolf terrorism (especially if you happen to work for the the FBI, DHS, or maybe if you just seriously believe that Donald Trump should win a Nobel Peace Prize)…

We might call it Frustration Art, which I see simply as the conscious and artful elicitation of feelings of frustration in an observer for the purpose of elevating, educating, illuminating, and bettering Humanity, in general, and of course in particular the given observer (the one actually feeling the frustration). It has only been a few weeks or so that I’ve been able to recognize this as an especially good way to interpret one of the grand themes of my life. And now, finally, after many years of arduous diligence and struggle, I believe I am finally ready to do this work professionally, in fact, that I must do so.

Continue with Mockery Not Glockery: Why I Must Become A Lone-Wolf Terrorist, Part 2.

You might also enjoy watching this video by a true Frustration Art master practitioner,  the late Andy Kaufman:


[1] The “Mockery Not Glockery” part of my title for this post is a reference to the name of the Cocks Not Glocks movement. I see their clever and hilarious use of dildos to expose the absurdity of gun culture as an inspired example of Frustration Art. Their core technique of “fighting absurdity with absurdity” is an important device in any frustration artist’s toolkit.

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