Action Figure

The words spun around my aching brain in an endless loop

as I marched through the dense heat of the urban brush.

Youre too nice a guy Jackson.

That may have been true before this morning.

But as of 9:17 AM this morning, the moment Fat Heads

nightstick rocked my dome, I started to transform into something

elsesomething primal, something strong, and in many

ways, something long overdue.

A sleeping giant of buried rage had been awoken.

I thought about Tarmok and the rage of the Bull Mongoni.

The barbarian within me had taken over, this time for good.

I began too feel pity for anyone who dared stand in my way

as I began my dark journey of escape.

I am Wes Jackson.

I am ignorant in the Hollywood Barbell Club sense of the word.

Wes Jackson Lives.