What's Eating The Last Angry Man?

Excerpt from Moby-Dick; or, The Whale
by Herman Melville

Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato threw himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.

I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. I should quietly take to the ship. I'm so blinding angry that I can hardly see past the red mist. I'm thinking of doing something rash—of doing many rash things. (I'm looking up parish boundaries. I've discovered that I reside within Holy Family's parish boundaries, not Holy Redeemer's; so, really, I'd just be an obedient son of the Church to switch.) It is all I can do not to do any of those rash things without first sleeping on the matter. My hypos have gotten such an upper hand of me that strong moral principle is hanging on by the skin of its teeth.

Today held such promise, such potential!

Bonus! Song of the Day
Dropkick Murphys, "World Full of Hate" from Blackout (The Last Angry Man)

Commentary: "Correcting mistakes in a world full of hate never changes anything…"