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If you're having a bad day, the sort of bad day characterised by a superfluity of stupid people in your face, you may find solace in the following manner:

If you're alone you can speak aloud, if not, just speak internally. "Kill." Include the fullstop.

"Kill."

"Kill."

"Kill."

Repeat and repeat. Visualise those who have been oppressing you with their inadequacies today, or if it's been a really bad day, just visualise indiscriminate killing. Perhaps you feel drawn to an orgy of violence and gore. Or maybe a fit of beserk martial arts, throwing people away like toys in the ultimate tantrum of shock and impulse. Alternatively you may simply wish a dreadful but non-specific cloud of malice and darkness and hate on your foes, channelling pure rage and fury through the otherspace of the shared subconscious unto, onto, into those most deserving.

"Kill."

"Kill."

"Kill."

You might feel the urge to flinch away from these feelings, tell yourself "These are bad thoughts. Nobody deserves death." Shut up. Shut up little voice. You are not wanted now.

Remind yourself why you are channeling this pain. Remember where the pain originated - in you. It is your pain, and they put it there. They put pain in you, and it is not nice. Let them have it back. Let them have it all back in spades, and then some.

"Kill."

Review the point of hurt. The moment when you should have told him No. When you should have stopped in your tracks, and just as she turned round, just as she started to say "wha-" you would say it. "Where the fuck do you get off..."? The point when he reduced you and your plans to "...but seriously, ..." there you should have passed your fist through the line of his jaw, should have ensnared her neck with your forearms - a jerk - a pull - ... a 'crick', should have dropped to your knees, expressing your pain, the hurt she had done, then risen, risen, first one foot, the other, as she recovered from her surprise, a roar, a bellow to the sky, to summon the rage, bring it forth, from the sky, from the earth, into the centre of your chest and then, like an orgasm of fury, a beam of pure hatred down your arms and into her soul, shrivelling, burning, crushing, killing. Should have, would have, will do ...next time.

Rest for a moment, let the wave pass, enjoy the tickle in your stomach, rest, rest. Then start again slow...

"Kill."

Who are they anyway? You're creative, you work, you're always learning, always improving yourself, thinking about things, what are they doing? Watching TV? Checking the scores? They have no idea. They just are. They exist and they consume and they complain about the price of fuel, and they are worth nothing. You are worth nothing, but at least you know, at least you think about the meaning of worth. Yet here you are. That they dare to exist alongside you is almost bearable, but that they actually define their own superiority by the things that make you better? Indeed that which they think they know about you, when there is so much they would not even understand, let alone believe.

"Kill."

"Kill."

Oh you have more hate. Dig that shit up and feel for the pure stuff below. The impure pain and misery and stress of your daily existance distilled and separated down through many levels of emotion and confusion and disbelief, that sweet perfect wrath, stoke that furnace up, a thud as the air itself ignites around your body, your clothes burn away leaving you a perfect elemental point of fire and fume and sin.

"Kill."

You are the Bad One. Hatred incarnate, the world falls away below you revealing a dark and simple reality thereunder: the fools fall from above, you catch and destroy them, their bodies pile below, nothing escapes, You Kill All.

"Kill."

Now see that enemy, that impure imbecile, tumbling toward you. They think they are good. They think they are righteous. Blind to their irrelevance, their flaws, their ignorance. You have no such failing, for you are sure of your flaws, you know you know little, you know and yet your constitution is untarnished, for your will is pure. Confusion, belief, faith, all are crushed beneath the hard fact: There is no Truth. There is only Chaos. And you are the Spirit of Entropy. And You

"Kill."

And so you transcend. Let the wave of euphoria wash over you, let your soul ring like a crystal bell, a shell of pure will, the force of being expands around you at the speed of light, beginning its long journey, irradiating the cosmos.

"Kill."

Someone has found themself at your mercy, and you have decided to kill them. And you do, and they die. What is that?

"Kill."

Is it wrong? It feels ... it feels like something. It exists. To kill. That is real.

"Kill."

People have killed for ... millenia. People have been killing since before they were people. In fact if there's one thing that people, that animals, that life needn't do, that is not necessary to survive, it's to kill for any reason other than food. And yet killing has always happened. For reasons. Or not.

"Kill."

Killing is the original, first unnatural act. The first step away from nature, on the long road to communication, community, society, it is the precursor to everything that we are. They killed before they were warm blooded. They killed before they were mammals, before they were man, before there were gods, before houses, before fire, before clothing or machines, or words or systems. Before right or wrong. They Killed.

"Kill."

If killing predates morality, how can killing be fundamentally wrong? Unless the very first unnatural behaviour was 'wrong' and if so, is there not a case to say that everything else that followed is also wrong?

"Kill."

To an individual person, a living, self-aware conscious person, with thoughts and memories and emotions and feelings, to be killed feels wrong. It is not what one wants. Right?

"Kill."

What is that final communication, the pure meaning passed from victim to killer, kept thereafter never to be given again, the last act of its source?

"Kill."

What is the last message passed the other way, from killer to victim? What is it that they know as they die?

"Kill."

What is that feeling, that final emotion as sensation starts to disappear, as the victim realises they are slipping. That they are dying. No, that they are being Killed. Someone else is going to live on with this moment.

"Kill."

But then even that person will die. And then the moment will be truly lost - for the unspoken communication could never be passed on second hand. So the moment is gone.

"Kill."

And people have been killing each other forever. All those moments. All those last pure moments of meaning, as the killer feels their victim die, as a person, a fellow, a being becomes a pile of meat, a lump of stuff.

"Kill."

And people are killing each other Right Now. Very likely, someone is dying, is being killed at this moment. You know it. You feel it. Are you a party to it? Is there guilt here? Should you be invading this moment? Or are you finally doing the right thing of paying attention to these killings?

"Kill."

The killer is finishing, the victim is on the point of death. They die.

"Kill."

"Kill."

For the full effect of this meditation, sit somewhere quiet, holding a weapon of some kind. Stare at it, rock back and forth, consider the simplicity of its operation, its use. The blade, hard material shaped to exert pressure exceeding the structural strength of organic matter, entering, penetrating and disrupting balanced systems, altering them beyond their natural ability to repair in time, so that the system can no longer maintain support for the substrate of awareness, which inevitably fails, and is overwhelmed by bigger natural processes. The bullet, chemistry pushed to the precipice of an energetic clifftop, a gentle shove away from absolute commital, metalwork arranged to contain the release, direct its energy to a pebble, to throw it through flesh. The gun, machinery designed to facilitate the disorder of biology, careful control of excessive forces to disturb small ecosystems past their ability to recover.

"Kill."

To kill. To take life. Something is alive, and you have the power to make that life stop.

"Kill."

What is? What is not? Not easy questions. But harder still: the point of change. From alive to dead. The point where it starts becoming not.

"Kill."

"Kill."

With all this, how can you commit not to kill? It is so important to humanity. So much of who and what we are, what we define ourselves as is directly involved in killing. To say "I will not kill.", just like that, without careful thought is to express utter disdain for the gift of self awareness. Surely to go through your entire life without killing once is to miss out on a whole aspect of humanity. Naturally you only get to die once, but perhaps an opportunity to be killed might not be fundamentally bad just because of what it means. If you must go, perhaps being killed by another might be a far richer experience, a more relevant pathway than many of the other deaths.

Much time is spent thinking deeply about number, about language, love, wine, battle, art - I propose that killing has as much depth as any of these, if not more. Killing, the original and most profound example of will overcoming nature.

"Kill."

Meditating is a good way to find a deeper understanding of your personal experience of life. It can help you find balance and meaning, restore emotional stability and peace. It can also lead to euphoric revelations and epiphanies. However it's very hard to meditate when highly emotionally excited. I find that this method of meditating fluidly through the throes of passion, encouraging the feelings to play out and then following the experience towards a more peaceful yet consistent set of percepts highly effective in calming the fuck down without having to tear anyone's head off. Controlled fantasy and meditation on killing is a lot better for lifestyle prospects than a violent nervous breakdown.