Monday, November 14, 2011

Thinking While I Come

Beer can taste sweet to me, and no sweeter than when it is dark. Earthy black beer is marvelous.

The rich green scent of cannabis filling a pipe; that used to drive me wild, too. Is there anything as fine?

The crackle of a cigarette. The snapping of elastic. The clack of clasps on the side of a beloved DVD. In chemical and visual and auditory and physical anticipation, appreciation, reflection upon gaining my fix, there is bliss. There is oblivion. There is forgetting. There is poison.

I have been accused of being no fun, mostly by idiots. I love, love, love going too far. I have indulged perhaps not as much as some, but enough for me, and more than enough. I can talk for hours about fantasy and grow intoxicated until I am either staring into the distance or clinging to a toilet or sleeping where I fall. I am not bragging, for there are millions of sots more impressive than me. I am merely explaining what I am and saying that I have a good capacity for abandon.

But I can look into bottle and bowl and see waste as surely as enlightenment, see regret as surely as laughter. I can look at what I love, if it's fleshy or emotional or medicinal or recreational, and I can take it apart, doubt it. I've sometimes doubted too much. But I've been willing to test it all.

Some men can't do this. Too many, in my experience. I've met too many men who can't see the sexual leering in their sports or their fiction, who can't see the diseased hypocrisy in their drink halls and drug commercials, who can't see a quid pro quo in the Pentagon advertisement that is your average action film, who will not see racism if there is no noose, who will not see injury if there is entertainment.

Fucking idiots. Pain in society is always enjoyed by someone. Even Hitler sought to make his teachings palatable. If you are unable to test the delights around you, you are no connoisseur, no enlightened indulgent, no refined palate, no ironic observer.

You're one more pig at the trough. Whatever they pour is whatever you'll guzzle.

I don't care what a woman or man likes. I'll respect you if you eat slop and drink Steel Reserve. So long as you fucking think about what you put into you. So long as you don't delude yourself that it can't be poison if you like its taste.

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