I keep my anger in check for the most part. I’m furious with so much of the world, at my own existence, so much of the time I forget it’s there. I don’t feel like Mark Ruffalo really delivered the line to its full potential – I’m always angry. I think it’s why I can walk the streets unmolested almost anywhere. The poor fool that triggers me and unleashes this level of repression might just get his ass killed.  At minimum, gravely wounded. 

I remembered my anger yesterday. Driving home at 3am I put on my favorite 90s album – Rage Against the Machine. Mostly an effort to stay awake by car dancing I found myself not just singing but screaming along with Killing In The Name.  I’m not going to call it an epiphany but I understand that music better than ever before.  The chanting, protest and simplicity all tangled into an unmistakable emotion- anger.  How dare you pretend this isn’t happening.  Essentially, #blacklivesmatter

I have a checkered past on the topic of racism due to some perspective issues.  Namely, I’ve had to reconcile still loving someone that is racist without asking them to change.  It’s not an easy task.  In the meantime, I’ve patiently watched the world change.  The fact is things are better than they used to be.  The same thing was true in the 90s and that didn’t stop some of us from demanding better.  The fight never ends any more than heaven exists.  Finding personal peace is another challenge entirely.

I have a dream of performing karaoke at the P&H on a Friday night where I can show the city my Rage.  I’m not mad at the city anymore.  Not like I was in my youth.  Right now, it’s the only place where people understand what I mean about the progress we’ve made.  The artist that I am is shaped by my experiences in that city.  Some of them would have happened anywhere because everywhere is pretty much the same.  It did all happen in Memphis though.  That can’t be changed.