I don't mind conflict in life, but I'm not much into "drama" as it's called. The idea that people would display emotional turmoil for attention, whether from within or without, is repellent to me.
Yet I've indulged frequently in Woody Allen rants about this or that, the kind of "schtick" of intellectual worth, one believes. Structured comedy, more or less. Ranting is healthy, it's a way of saying things while not-doing. You can rant about the bad drivers in the world, instead of killing them.
The only ones hurt in ranting is the listener, especially if they're not committed to the subject of the rant as endemic of a larger problem. Often the listener is stuck trying to "solve" the problem, instead of just being there.
I try not indulge the ranting too much. Too much is a strain on others. Too much ranting in and of itself leads to rage, a physical exertion of rage. I've scars to show for it.
Society is such a festering wound in this day and age, no one voice is heard among the flailing rants of the many. Even the rants are buried under mountainous ruins of broken people's dreams, the dream of living day to day, an ordinary life with children and pets and the occasional night out and the rest work and television. There's nothing wrong with that dream, and it's specifically American. Many people fear the dream is being taken away from them before their very eyes. Worse, they're being told it never existed in the first place. You're either impovershed or gluttonous, and no one economic identity seems to fit any more.
If the world, culture and society crumbles, I know I will perish fairly immediately. No one is more vulnerable than the ranting rager devoid of hope, badgered by guilt, and honeycombed with bad memories.
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