There Ain't No Devil.

I think the best of the three "I was drunk" things I did.

 

Hello boils and ghouls. Here I am again. Half drunk, deep in thought, and listening to tormented and insightful musicians. Trying to find reason in the mental illness fueled insanity that is my head. I still haven’t found the meaning of life.

 

            I’ve found some other stuff though. Stuff that most of you try to avoid or try to pretend isn’t a part of you. That animal part of you, that primitive part of your personality that no matter how you try to insulate yourself from it it’s still there to periodically bite it’s thumb at your trite conventions of normalcy. You know it well. It’s that part of you that makes you creep into your daughters room in the dead of night to get a view of ample breasts rising and falling as she sleeps, making you want to go in and take her like you took your wife 17 years ago when you were half drunk and she was half asleep.

 

            Instead of letting you turn like some cowardly sheep and run from it I’m here to throw it in your face and force you to look at it. I’ve been that way my whole life. I enjoy causing discomfort in others. Why the f**k should you get to walk around free of the mental torment I endure so you can point and stare in fascination at how I cope with it.

 

            Most people are like me, they’re just too terrified of themselves to embrace it and claim it as part of them. The man on the street wants to believe he’s somehow above, and better than people like me, and poor tormented souls that are worse off that I am. Not realizing if it wasn’t for people like me they wouldn’t be able to have their normal lives. They’re white picket fences, they’re two and half children and they’re socially accepted breed of dog as a pet.

 

            The mindless herd has just as much self loathing and self pity as I do only you’ve found a way to bury it in your love of Jesus, or money, or both. They do the same as I do to relieve their tensions and call it something else so they can sleep easier at night. I know though, I know they do the same things, because I see them in the same place I am, doing the same things I do. Reaching down and embracing the same demons I embrace. Going the same places I go drinking the drinks I drink, and courting the disaster I court. All the while wrapped safely in their own delusions, lies, and self made stories where they’re the hero, and people like me are the villain.

 

            Riding high in their new model SUVs looking down their noses at the very people that have helped to elevate them to the status they so enjoy. Meanwhile their daughters cry in the night hoping daddy doesn’t come around to check up on them, and their sons lay in bed wishing they had the courage to kill their fathers for the crimes being committed in the next room over.

 

            So how are we better my brother and sisters of the wounded heart? How are more evolved? How have we carried on in a manner that makes us better suited to pass judgment on others? We haven’t. Oh no my compatriots oh no. We are no better. Without the mindless masses. With out the yuppies, hippies, and right wing republicans we’d be in no position at all. Surely our more puritanical brethren can’t accept what we’ve some to accept, but what does that say about us?

 

            Does it make us better than they? As we peer at them through the bottoms of our glasses. Have we truly gone on to better things? Or are we merely so trapped and consumed in our own personally designed hells that we simply think we’ve gotten more perspective on life than they have. Have the gallons of escape we’ve consumed really helped us due more than make excuses for our past? Have the bowls smoked or dirty needles injected really provided us enlightenment or have they done nothing more than help insulate us from actually having to face the same life our herd like brother and sisters are trying to escape?

 

            We’ve crept into the same bedrooms, the only difference is the thing we’re raping and robbing of it’s purity is ourselves. We climb into our bottles and syringes looking for a thrill, looking to have a bit of something we thought we couldn’t have. Indulging in that forbidden fruit that we know we shouldn’t taste. Voicing thoughts and opinions that we think are going to hold the answers to questions we don’t even know. Yet we do it, repeatedly, night after night. Knowing that this time will be the last time. Knowing that if we keep living the lives we lead we’re going to wind up cold and alone and dead in a gutter somewhere. With no one to mourn us but friends that sat on the side as close as they could get without damaging themselves. Wishing they had known what to say or do to help us through what got us to where we’re going to wind up.

 

            So to you my brothers and sisters of the vice, and to you my brethren that lead the life that is socially accepted as politically correct and safe I say. There ain’t no Devil; it’s just God when he’s drunk.

Author's Note

Last of the three "I was drunk" things...