But if I had a cause, it would have been this: to threaten the state’s hold, its sweating iron grip, on violence. The police and military hold all the cards when it comes to the use of force. Police brutality is merely frowned upon. If killing were an Olympic sport, how many gold medals would our proud nation have? However, if a regular citizen were to act out in the way a police officer or soldier is expected to act, there would be Hell to pay. Imprisonment or the death sentence seem like harsh penalties for activities that are otherwise seen as glorious and heroic for some, barbaric and sociopathic for others. I will admit that there is a certain amount of risk involved being an agent of state violence, but this risk is minimal compared to the amount of power exchanged.
The state uses “restrained violence.” I did not. The state treats violence like an animal that can be tamed and unleashed. State agents of violence pride themselves on their control. No: human violence, once initiated, is uncontrollable. One may be disciplined enough to resist its use, but once in the act of committing an atrocity – restraint becomes a foreign body, an alien which once resided in the heart but now can only watch the butchery mute, horrified, and transfixed.
The state knew I threatened its monopoly on violence. That was the power of my rage. Absolute violence, cold and calculating ruthlessness, is a hot smothering sword that sears and immolates whatever it touches. Most of the population is too timid, too conditioned for comfort to ever let loose this power. They are the object-instruments of economic capital and commodity fetishes. My only value was rage; my only commodity was time.
There is little joy in a life filled with rage, but it is a necessity that is not insufferable.