Guinness and Absinthe

Try as I may, some things are elusive

OK - here's the way I'm seeing things at the moment.

 

Guinness has a beautiful harp on it's pint cans (maybe bottles, but I'm not in possession of one right now). Now, drinking Guinness doesn't make angels soar down from on high and play harp music for ya - no-sir-ree. Nothin of the sort! What it does is make ya know that deep inside your soul core, an angel awaits, watching over you from the inside, because that inner angel is the only one ya got, and the only one you'll ever need. Peoples will let you down, f**k with you mercilessly and play head games until you die. It's you and your inner angel, and it spells it out plainly, right there on the Guinness can!

 

Now, the bottle of absinthe (the one I prefer, anyways) has an eye - the inner eye - the third eye - the eye that sees all the s**t that the real eyes turn away from. When you partake of it's potion - and it is most definitely that - you see. You see the beauty of the world, and you see the reality, as well. It's gift lies in bringing about the lucidity of thought to bring those two worlds together - the beauty - the reality.

 

I got my inner angel - thank ya kindly, Arthur Guinness. I know I'm not alone in the world, at least for the moment.

 

And thank you, La Fee, for showing me the truth, whether it's pretty or not. A little beauty; a little truth. To the accompaniment of Yeats and Oscar Wilde.

 

The world has not been a kind place. No sir. It's been bull-headed, harsh and flighty. No words exist to say the pain this world has wrought. Thanks to Guinness, my inner angel soothes me when I need him most. La Fee shows me that a beautiful flower can grow from a dung-heap.

 

Or, conversely, every essence of my being can come undone and I can place myself in a shallow grave that won't be discovered until a couple of weeks from now.