There's a Michaux poem where the speaker talks about putting people in sacks and then beating them "up with impunity and with an energy that would wear out ten strong men working in regular shifts."
The speaker develops incredible patience. Patience for assholes, etc.
And so he puts up with people for hours, months, years.
Patience. Patience. Patience.
Patient because he knows he's going to get them in the sack and then have at them. Have at them "with an energy that would wear out ten strong men working in regular shifts."
Like Michaux I am patient. And like Michaux I have a sack. And assholes. I've got them. O, yeah, I've got them. Plenty of them.
The sack, in my hands right now, feels sooooo good.
And the anticipation sooooo sweet.
Patience. Patience. Patience.
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