Addiction/attention

Clandestine, leave the beer on the window sill outside and walk in the front door, drive drunk to the gas station and pick up a couple 22s. nothing extravagant just a little to see ya through, tough times? nah not so much just board and uninspired. The spark is dim almost burnt out. Gotta add fuel to the fire, gotta add spice to the life. A little misdemeanor here and there nothing big, nothing life threatening. The secrete keeps us sharp, the sneaking around, the stealth. whats the worse thing that can happen? We get caught and are forced to admit we have a problem, the sympathy play, the addict gambit. Yeah it always works, pour on the pathetic and trust that they will save us. Get the attention, that’s what it’s all about, that warm fuzzy feeling, like people care. Walk the line, step in time, till theyre used to it, till the good shit stops coming, then BAM relapse, build the trust bask in the glow, be special all over again. it’s a life cycle like plants have birth, death, rebirth, over and over again. Tea or booze, Coca-Cola or heroine it doesn’t matter its all part of the plan man enjoy your addiction while you can! Be special, out of synch, negative creep yielding positive results. Go ahead, enable me, or better yet just pity me. it’s all the same it;s all a lie addiction is an attention cry.

The Dance

Dark nights in downtown bars,
the neon rainbow, the congregation speaks in tongues.
the mating ritual reduced to the brusk one-liner,
cackling laughter of witches covens huddled over long island iced teas.
The incessant bellowing of the jukebox adds desperation to an atmosphere already thick with smoke and shattered dreams.
I love the pop of a match struck from a paper book,
The eulogies of dead souls carved deep into stained tables.
the table is bathed in blood red from the sign in the corner.
and in the corner I sit.
Peering out on the circus in front of me
clowns in gay colors dancing to the discordant tune of vice and lust!
Happy depression, the mock life of the tragic soul, dancing in death and flittering fairy lights.
like Hunter Thompson said “buy the ticket, take the ride” Were all just passengers here. The driver left, went out for a smoke and never came back.
The lunatics run the asylum, an isolated patch of anarchy designed to provide controlled pressure realese so the inmates can return to the asylum compliant and complacent.
Nothing matters here because there is no memory. No consequence except the hangover.
So my friends, dance on, forget about yesterday and tomorrow, only now matters, and right now I need a drink!

A scuicide note.

Desire, lust, longing, feinding, thirst, hunger, desire, Call it what you will. Call it addiction and it sounds clinical. Call it a drinking problem and it sounds quaint. Call it alcoholism and it sounds like a religion. (not far off really) Aquae Vitalis, the water of life. Liquid spirit, the amplifier, the magnifier. A cocktail of life and poison! I want it, I long for it, in the night I cry out for it, my medicine, my sanity relies on this crutch. I feel, too much input, too much pain, too many garbled transmissions and flashing images! Too much color and sound. I want to be numb, I want to let the haze cover my eyes and the poison calm my heart. Its beating to hard and fast, it’s going to explode! I’m afraid and it makes me angry. I want to tear down the walls, I want to paint in blood, I wanna lie drunk and naked on the floor babbling to myself like a crazy person rocking back and forth in agonies and extacies. Letting pure uncut emotion leak from every pore. To die and be reborn from the experience of death. I feel I can’t live like this for much longer, sooner or later I have to die. And if one dies sober, and by dying I mean losing myself, is there any coming back? Or will I just be lost? At this point I have no idea but the explorer inside wants to find out so I’ll turn this rage into resolve and walk purposefully into oblivion!