Violence is not a word one casually throws around in this neighborhood, but that's because I know more than one person with post traumatic stress disorder. I know more than one veteran who's seen actual action and didn't come back quite right in the head.
Myself, I'm as gentle as they come, which is a good thing, given I'm a six-foot, ~230-pound ape. My flat-mate, who has had her fiery years, is the one to be concerned about, because she can gut somebody, should her livelihood (or that of those she loves) depend on it. She has put people into the hospital, and I've even had concerns during our off years that I could be her next victim. Fortunately, she had more control than that.
I hold both respect and pity for those who carry within them such degrees of badassery. In this community, that includes both men and women.
My respect for them is in regards to their will to do what is necessary when the time comes. Should our republic fall, it is likely that they are the people on which I will depend to survive through the long night. (They certainly are the ones who become responders when someone's life is in danger.) They, in turn, will depend on me to restore the infrastructure on which civilization depends; we each have our talents.
And my pity comes because the internal monster doesn't willingly stay in its designated compartment inside one's head. The wrong triggers can switch a pure, loving, human being back into a front-line killing machine, one that often is unsure who is friend and who is enemy. More than once in my life, I've had to talk such creatures down; remind them who they are and their present-day circumstances. I've had to reach that internal humanity afraid for his life to let his guard down. I've had to stare down guns and knives, and I am thankful I have survived those incidents unscathed.
Regarding those who consent to playing with fighting, and do so under safe conditions, I have no objections. I cannot do it myself, and I've disappointed more than a couple of girlfriends who wanted me to rape them (even with consent, it's just not in me). But if that's your kink, I wish you all the best in finding a safe and satisfying partner with which to explore those fantasies.
But when it comes to real violence, there's no space here to fuck around. If your temper leads you to harm yourself, others or property, you're a danger. And when you're a danger, you get help and learn to secure it, or you end up in the custody of the authorities. (You get to choose whether it's the guys in white, or the guys in blue.) As harsh as that might sound, it's better that than you triggering someone else who then empties a clip into you without a second thought.
Fortunately, these days, we don't have that many incidents within the community. I know a few people who might want to gun down a senator or two, though.
Incidentally, Statistically, domestic violence is not specific to either sex. Neither men nor women start it more often, or necessarily do more damage than the other. Not all anti-violence groups acknowledge male victims. Not all shelters accept men, and a lot of men don't go to the hospital when they should, because of embarrassment issues. It's one of those double standards we've yet to work out. But generally, until there's a zombie outbreak, real-world violence doesn't fly.
238U.
Myself, I'm as gentle as they come, which is a good thing, given I'm a six-foot, ~230-pound ape. My flat-mate, who has had her fiery years, is the one to be concerned about, because she can gut somebody, should her livelihood (or that of those she loves) depend on it. She has put people into the hospital, and I've even had concerns during our off years that I could be her next victim. Fortunately, she had more control than that.
I hold both respect and pity for those who carry within them such degrees of badassery. In this community, that includes both men and women.
My respect for them is in regards to their will to do what is necessary when the time comes. Should our republic fall, it is likely that they are the people on which I will depend to survive through the long night. (They certainly are the ones who become responders when someone's life is in danger.) They, in turn, will depend on me to restore the infrastructure on which civilization depends; we each have our talents.
And my pity comes because the internal monster doesn't willingly stay in its designated compartment inside one's head. The wrong triggers can switch a pure, loving, human being back into a front-line killing machine, one that often is unsure who is friend and who is enemy. More than once in my life, I've had to talk such creatures down; remind them who they are and their present-day circumstances. I've had to reach that internal humanity afraid for his life to let his guard down. I've had to stare down guns and knives, and I am thankful I have survived those incidents unscathed.
Regarding those who consent to playing with fighting, and do so under safe conditions, I have no objections. I cannot do it myself, and I've disappointed more than a couple of girlfriends who wanted me to rape them (even with consent, it's just not in me). But if that's your kink, I wish you all the best in finding a safe and satisfying partner with which to explore those fantasies.
But when it comes to real violence, there's no space here to fuck around. If your temper leads you to harm yourself, others or property, you're a danger. And when you're a danger, you get help and learn to secure it, or you end up in the custody of the authorities. (You get to choose whether it's the guys in white, or the guys in blue.) As harsh as that might sound, it's better that than you triggering someone else who then empties a clip into you without a second thought.
Fortunately, these days, we don't have that many incidents within the community. I know a few people who might want to gun down a senator or two, though.
Incidentally, Statistically, domestic violence is not specific to either sex. Neither men nor women start it more often, or necessarily do more damage than the other. Not all anti-violence groups acknowledge male victims. Not all shelters accept men, and a lot of men don't go to the hospital when they should, because of embarrassment issues. It's one of those double standards we've yet to work out. But generally, until there's a zombie outbreak, real-world violence doesn't fly.
238U.