mad drunk genius

I used to have all sorts of problems. Now there's just the one.

Tag: death

I am a fool who knows better & chooses worse

April 11, 2017
——I sat here last year, also with the sun in my eyes.
What good, what hope, is there that this cycle will exceed the
prior ones?
——Waking not-hungover (tho deserved) on a couch as like
——from a nap to hear the splash of stomach purging
——into a toilet walls-away & wondering, ‘Is my
——housemate sick from some microbial invader or
——last nite’s microbrew invited excessive in?’ The
——answer of sickness put-upon or self-made soon
——arrives as he leaves his room to go to work usual.
——You must live with yr misery when you’ve earned it. 

The older I get, the more sensitive I get to my creepiness.
I always was, but I’m more aware now than then & suspect
people will be less forgiving of my flab, wrinkles,
& gray hairs.
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Piss in my bed, piss on my life

On a Friday, I lost my job & with it my healthcare.

On Monday, I learned that my longterm ex had been sleeping with my housemate, and that his infidelities in their relationship—and her complaints about him doing so as her direct superior—led to his firing & her continued mental breakdown.

On Wednesday, I learned my teeth are in need of much attention that will need dental coverage I probably can’t afford.

Thursday morning I awoke to find a sexual partner had drunk herself to excess & pissed herself in her asleep (again).

Thursday afternoon, a woman who’d just gotten out of a break-up let me know that when she wanted to hang out with me, she had no sexual interest implied.

Very little in this actually related. All of it feels like it is.

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It’s better to be kind than clever

Scribbles on the bedroom wall of a hand-me-friend
apartment, mattress & box spring on the bluey purple
flecked carpet. A duct-taped chair with towel
on the back, a mirror on the floor caked in melted
snow men. A glass table. A pond paining. On
the outside of the door, four Cascadia flag stickers.
——I’m drunk already on swings of Trader Joe’s
——’Blended Scotch Whisky’ but I can tell the light
——switch cover is off-balance.
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After the rains

Current, like electricity.
——ocular, after
help isnt a perfect opportunity
——ants, termites
apple of
my eye
—after, we’re thru it
isnt all I intended
—education, medication, reminders
youth recreation, we all enjoying it
—Democracy, a moment

After the rain the
near drowned worms
bake & shrivel

My eye has shooting
pains like my
eye can feel Read the rest of this entry »

No life ever was meaningful, except to other people.

‘I mean, more needs-based education.’
——People are exhausting.
Bigotry needs an excuse; charity is its own.
——Make it till you can fake it.
Where harm is absent, sin is figment.
——Man in seated walker helped up steep hill by strangers.
A last precious sunny day warmth in true fall.
——Memory is never sent to kiln but always clay.
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‘There’s no law against selling mastodon tusks.’

——The debate, the debate.
The rivulets of ice-water running down what they’ve cut thru.
——Rocky & dark, light brown silt, green brush that looks like algae.
‘That was completely covered 60 years ago—with ice.’
——Water deep blue. Ice floes bluer still.
’60 years ago those glaciers met. You couldnt see that island.’
——Right at the water’s edge, the white stain of tide pulled work.
‘Gives Al Gore something to do.’
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In the end, my eyes were dry but my chin was wet

I was getting out of work after another long but OK day & I’d been told about that Connecticut thing & how 20 kids had died, but I hadnt had any time to really think or care about & anyway, it’s my job to tell people on the street that everday 19000 kids dont make it to their 5th birthday because of things like diarrhea & getting bit my a mosquito, so I didnt think it was or could be a very big deal.

And on the way to the bar, because that’s what I do, I was putting my iPhone back in my pocket but it missed & hit the uneven rocky part of the pavement & cracked the front screen in a half dozen places. And I said, ‘Fuck,’ and got upset, but continued to the bar because now I had a proximate excuse for my drinking, so I was weirdly happy.

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Never been a dead man

Never been a dead man, but I’ve seen quite a few and I can say without a doubt that they’re dead. Ain’t no life left in them. They’re dead and the life is gone. The spark’s gone out and there ain’t no replacing it.

See, when people die, they’re dead, see? They ain’t around no more. They ain’t coming back. They’re just dead.

I seen a few people alive who was dead at the time, but in the metaphorical sense, you see. I been one of them, time to time, but I ain’t never stayed dead. I got the resurrection and the life and it’s sufficed to pick me back more than a few times and put me back on my feet.

Brandy is dandy, but liquor is quicker, you know

Wow, that’s almost as bad as the video where pig got its head cut off with a chainsaw

Oh wait! It is the video where the pig got its head cut off with a chainsaw.

No trick, it really is that bad.

Which is to say, it’s not all that bad at all. I think I’ve touched on this before, but the funny thing about the internet is that it has a way of desensitizing the individual to at least visual violence and otherwise disturbing things. I imagine if I had to smell something rotting, I’d have a problem, but for example, a picture of the shores several days after the Indian Ocean Tsunami of 2004 showing dozens of bloated human bodies, not a big problem for me. Standing there, I don’t think I’d be overcome by the visual tragedy or horror of it, but rotting flesh would probably cause me to give up my lunch to the earth.

In the case of the pig, and I understand the difference between a pig and a human being, watching it violently die produced very little effect. At first I was incredulous that what I thought was going to happen actually would, then I was silent as the chainsaw went in, a raised eyebrow at the still kicking decapitated body, then laughter and a verbal, profane-laden expressions of disbelief as I watched the perpetrator chortle maniacally. No real shock or disgust.

*Various soldiers getting sniped in Iraq*

That produced a bit of hate. I mean, it’s Islamic propaganda and American servicemen are getting killed or wounded on camera without any provocation, meanwhile Islamic-style music plays in the background. It’s real people and if not as dramatic as a chainsaw execution, still violently destructive. But am I shocked? Was I unable to watch all of it? No, although after several minutes I grew bored and skipped through it, finding it all to be very much the same. Boredom.

Certainly all of this could have come about in other ways. Hunting profusely could quite possibly lead one to find it easier to pull the trigger on another human being. Video games haven’t monopolized simulated homicide, whatever Jack Thompson would like you to believe. And in the past, I helped a lady with several pigs hold them down and castrate them (pigs whose testicles lie inside them and must be cut into, dug out, and finally severed). That was certainly no less violent or torturous, even if it was supposed to be done for their benefit, done with relative concern for them, and not fatal. I felt something then, more due to my kinship as a male animal than anything else. Now, I feel sorry for the pig, but in a much more detached way.

Hey, it’s just a short clip, and a tiny one on a screen mere inches from my face. It’s not real, so it’s not surprising that these unreal things start to lose their weight after a while. Law of Diminishing Returns and all that.

But even a virtual diminishment has an effect on the reality that constitutes our lives.

I killed a man today.

Shot him, right through the heart, then twice more in the head just to be sure. Killed him dead as can be.

Couldn’t tell you why, if you asked. Just felt like the thing to do at the time. Feels pretty good now, too.

Think I’ll kill a man tomorrow.