What're you rebelling against, Johnny?

I like to think of myself as an artist, a musician, even though most of the time I don't act like it. Looking back at other periods in my life that have been more productive artistically, I find that there's a common emotional engine driving much of the production. This engine can be described loosely as angst of some sort or another, heartache, longing, sadness, regret; I think you could safely categorize it in the negative energy category. This is not uncommon in art, particularly in pop music: everything from boy loses girl to fuck da police. My wellspring seems to be an emotional void into which memories of loss and a bitter aching for erstwhile sweetness flow.

More recently my engine has been running not on heartache but on rage, a tightly-chained, off-balance oscillating weight of pure hostile desire which wants to break free and destroy the world. Instead of drawing from a well, internally I am poisoning the water supply. I am smashing at the bricks with a hammer. I am strapping on a dynamite belt. And I am noticing that my artistic production has almost totally ground to a halt. Is there something about rage that clogs the pistons of creativity, or do I just not know how to transform rage into art? Or do I not want to see the art my rage inspires?

What do you do with your rage?