master of disaster

That would be me. Yeah, me. A grand conductor of trainwrecks.

Something terrible is about to happen and I will be at the center of it all. I'm slowly reaching the point of not caring what happens anymore. And for some strange reason, it makes me feel brave.

I suppose that all of us, at some point in our lives, need to summon up a bit of courage and if it so happens that my brand of courage is conjured up from icy cold indifference, does that make it less useful? In fact, I would argue that this type of courage, the don't-give-a-f*ck type of courage, is of the highest quality and probably the most dangerous to its possessor. It's the type of courage that enables a mother to sacrifice herself in order to save her child; the type of courage that a soldier might summon up before running out from cover to throw a grenade in a foxhole. Noble, with a touch of suicidal, and terribly powerful.

What I am about to weave is akin to jumping out in to the street and flattening myself against a windshield, barely conscious but comforted in the knowledge that I'm moving somewhere. Randomizing. I want to create a storm so powerful that even I will be unable to resist its movements. And in its wake, I will indirectly leave tears, light and heavy heartache, bittersweet love pangs, and naked bodies strewn across beds, shaking with sobs, wondering what the hell just happened. Maybe I'll be one of the casualties, watching blankly at the surrounding carnage while my heart rots with guilt and my mind conspires to convince me why it was all necessary.