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How did I find the conditions of the existent to be revolting?

As far as revulsion is concerned, as far back as I can remember I have always been triggered by cruelty and humiliation. Although I am unsure of the exact origins, I suspect an impression was made on me when I was very young.

Specific to recollection, there are two events I remember putting blackness into my chest. The first was witnessing the cruelty of some older kids baiting their dogs to fight one another. One of the dogs I remember vividly. He was a lovely good natured black mongrel called Prince who appreciated a stroke and a tickle behind the ears. I was six years old and watched him die a brutal and protracted painful death. He never stood a chance and it was the first time I felt hate. In equal amounts I hated the reduction of such beauty to such a sick and meaningless performance that I still conflate it with the hate at my own inaction. This still messes me up.

In comparison the second wasn't quite the trauma, but it opened a door. Again I was six years old and some of the older kids decided to pick me out for a dose. They beat me up and bundled me into a football/soccer net and dragged me around the asphalt and pebble-dash off the backs of their bikes. The humiliation and the overt propensity for cruelties set a fire ablaze which still burns today.

I don't recollect ever making any coherent vow, but from that point on I was fighting. I fought the bullies until they left me alone. I fought the bullies who bullied my friends until they left them alone. I fought bullies in the workplace. I fought bullies in pubs. I've fought gangster whoppers, capitalist and state whoppers. I've had my arse kicked.

These combined with the love I easily feel have given me the conceit of the expert in spotting the cosmology and quanta of the rot. Anarchy is my speciality. Anarchy is my dream. Over the years as I have perceived cruelty and humiliation, any infringement or any detriment upon the beauty of a life finds me both increasingly sophisticated for an explanation and simplistic in my reasoning.

What kind of impact has anger and enmity had on my anarchist ideas?

Probably the anger and enmity that has impacted my anarchist ideas most has come from that anger and enmity directed at those I once called friend or comrade. The disappointments in betrayal, the disintegration of relationships and the evaporation of meaning and trust have all seen my ideas coalesce to a singularity of intent. I'm still angry at many old friends, yet I'll love until my heart breaks. I'll repeat it again and again until I can't do it no more. I expect the knife; desiring it knowing one day it will kill me. Oblivion will have me regardless, so I will have this life and all its surprises. They're mine!

On the opposite end, what advice would I offer to other anarchists struggling to control a healthy level of anger/opposition?

I don't know about advice. Perhaps try not to punch sideways. I don't know what could be considered healthy when the illnesses we fight are so pervasive. I don't know how to forgive being stabbed in the back. The only thing I maintain is self-confidence. I can run, climb, swing my arms and take a dig. I like me and love that I love. With this, I remain pragmatic in having seen no evidence to support my future resurrection, living forever, conscious reincarnation or full reboot. It may not be all that useful, but it appears this life and this moment with all their jeopardy and beauty are all there is.

Om. With air for the lungs, toasted cheeks for sunshine, raindrops igniting the skin to singing, lips meeting and birds pouring sweetness in the ears, how joyful it is to fuck up the motherfucking shit-fuck system that seeks to destroy it all.