Concordant With Popular Belief

If children lack any experience, it is not in life, and certainly not in the joys of inflicting pain, psychic or physical, but only the constructions of their particular language. For after you kicked their knees, if they had the words, surely they would address you:

You are bigger than I, and more educated. Your verbal arsenal is formidable, but even you are not so obtuse that you cannot see plainly the truth that your words and blows can never controvert. Your power over this world is illusory and your oraculations are the diaphanous veil with which you entangle those you think worthy to love you, but stripped of your machinations, you are small man with a big mouth.

Even as a child, I know that your oratorical excesses are a mask for your inadequacies. Of course, you think I refer to your inability to please your wife, but her taking lovers has nothing to do with your maladroitness with the feather boa she bought you, and my pronouncement has nothing to do with sex whatsoever. What you lack, and what your rhetoric cannot compensate for, is the freedom that I exhibit and you find so repugnant.

The fact is you are as distanced from true cruelty as from childhood. You are isolated on the row boat of your small life that floats on the roiling seas I swim in and though you talk of love and hate, the former leaves your mouth not as a dove, but as a sea gull, and the latter as a murder of crows, and you can never know another person, but only their birdsong.

Oh, and occasionally other people's feelings shit on you.

But I am the barracuda who eats the other fish, even when he is not hungry. I am the voracious eel who strikes the hand cavalierly draped over the side of the raft. I am the water itself greedily crashing in waves, reaching for the very sky as if to consume the whole world in its crashings.

Listen to me, little man: take off your tongue and fight like a four year old. See how far your bloviations carry you.