Can there be any fun without violence?
If we become peaceful will we not also resent our sublimation to all?
Will our resentment not turn to hate, and our hate to some trick?
Violence! Untempered wrath. Only then can a cooling occur. Lightning must strike to dissipate.
Our consciousness is subject, and with her come will and objection, valence and preference—perspective.
Perspective is conflict, and conflict, violence.
Best we discharge our lightning on one another. Life, without its violent discharge —the emanation of a will welling up in one, its thrust upon its other, upon its object of desire to strike, to take, to impinge— is impotent. Without object, objectivity, desire, acquisitiveness, there is no anima; without anima no animation, no life, no subjective being, no being at all.
We need our violence as we need our being. To give up our violence is to give up all that makes us—even play, even fun; and surely we cannot live without the one beam of light that warms our dark plight, our knowing death.
May we fear death only without our refreshing violence, and not violence itself, for she has made us, and life is not to be betrayed with the bore of peace. Peace, rest from all objects and objectives—that is the death we wish not to know.