bush, not gore
Ten years ago, I would threaten to smash anyone who mildly criticized me. Blinding, crushing violence—more, more, more—was my orgasmic substitute. Gory snapshots of murder victims were my pornography.
But somewhere in time, I connected violence with the familial ugliness I didn't want in my life anymore. And I realized I'd never be able to kill everyone. Shoot one down, and a hundred more stand up. The early childhood violence which damaged me was threatening to erase me altogether.
Even though I've been lifting weights every day for five years...and am more capable of cracking skulls than ever...violence bores me. It's more fun to take out my aggression on a tight snatch. Better to pound a pussy than a face.
Sex and violence both release endorphins, but only one is a parole violation.
