Punching tanks

[Q. G. Pennyworth]

Things are wrong wrong wrong and every muscle is screaming to go out and do something and I can't, I just can't and it kills me every time I hit that wall and I realize that no matter how much I care about those birds outside my jailcell they're out there and I'm in here and I can't can't can't do anything to save them. It's all so clear when it's someone else something else outside and you can see if only they moved just a little bit they would see things the way you do and they'd fix it like you'd fix it but they don't move and they can't and you can't touch them just yell and yell until your voice is hoarse and still they can't understand what you're saying and they just keep fucking dying anyway and why would you even care you don't even know them you fucking monkey get back in your monkey circle, go tend to your monkeys leave these monkeys alone. I don't fucking trust anyone to do anything, they're all terrible at it. Terrible at everything. Look at what they fucking did! All of them! And you think you see a crack and you can reach them and you start digging and get your hopes up and maybe just maybe someone will get to fly, even if I can't someone will get out of this fucking place someone will make it but the alarms go off and you get thrown back where you belong and there's no out. There's never been an out. I fucking hate it all. It's a wound ten years old, eleven years, twelve; a scar a lifetime long still bleeding. It's nine votes, pepper spray, an argument I had with my brother when we were little shits in high school. It's an Iranian couple waving at the camera. It's the last time I prayed to that dickhole god my parents believed in. A casket under yellow roses. I still can't do anything.

If I could punch my way through this wall, I would fix it. I would punch every tank in the world until they were dust. I'd break out the whistleblowers and lock up the government. If I could. But it's after midnight and the T's stopped, so I guess I just have to go to sleep, and pretend the fact that everything's okay for me is enough.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

This is good.

[Q. G. Pennyworth]

Sorry about the punctuation and whatnot, that's just how it came out.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

That kind of thing isn't as important when it comes to rants. Your rant worked; it conveyed something, and that's what counts.

[Cuddlefish]

This is good.

Agreed.

[Luna]

That kind of thing isn't as important when it comes to rants. Your rant worked; it conveyed something, and that's what counts.

This.  Sometimes fiddling around with spelling, punctuation, grammar, and all that gets in the way.  Can't tell you how many times I've gotten blocked up because the internal editor brought everything to a screeching halt because I split a freakin' infinitive.

[Cuddlefish]

Only when one fully understands the futility of words will they be able to use them to create any meaningful arrangement.

[axod]

Only when one fully understands the futility of words will they be able to use them to create any meaningful arrangement.

I'm sorry

[Q. G. Pennyworth]