I want to be violent. I want to smash a perfect lego village. I want to smash it fast. I want to take a perfectly minature house in my hand, and look at the man who spent painstaking hours constructing that perfect mini house directly in the eyes. I want him to watch as I throw that perfectly small house against a window for no good reason. Ideally that window will be located at the top of a tall skyscraper. And only the city birds will hear the whizz as that perfectly built mini house lets gravity be violent for me. Bits of glass will fall too. Watch out city birds. Fly away from the violence, city birds. Gravity will create a lego grenade for the concrete to erupt multi-colored, multi-pieced violence. I won't hear the whizz or burst myself. No, I'll be stomping away at the rest of that perfectly built lego village. Did you know that my legs are violence makers? They're muscular and strong and heavy. The idea that my legs were created to destroy runs through my mind. My legs don't take offense to that, and make quick work of a brown lego bridge. The beautiful detail of gas station isn't noticed by my size 12. I wore heavy shoes today on my purpose, my mind and legs say to that helpless creator and witness. One big, perfect lego becomes an oodle of silly color. This was quick violence against the yellow people. Lego my ego, you yellow fellows.