About me
subject appears to be a white male, early 50's, pathologically tall/skinny. brain patterns show evidence of a life in alcohol - first swimming in it then running from it. fingers show wear from years of guitar playing. heart presents slow repair, through writing, from being broken by rock and roll.
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Second to Last Will and Testament: The Massive Killers Piece Part One
( I Hear the Good Girl Died: On the Random Nature oif Life; Regarding Regret in Reference to Excellence and, Eventually, the Killers )
Much like that other self-referential nose on a stick, Pete Townshend, I too once hoped to die before I got old and, again much like Ol' Snagglesnoot I have failed to do so.l Which I'm just about ready to recognize as a good thing overall and not some overblown dramaqueen, insurmountable burden which can make for both losy poetry and losy conversation. So what's left when one sheds the theatrical death wish? Well, whattaya know, it's freakin' life. Good ol' life! In all it's mollassic tedium and flashes of mythic, and i stress mythic, glory. Boring? Yeah, maybe most but not ALL the time. Hard? Again sometimes. And of course we all know life's boundless capacity to, well, suck. But you know what?
That's all.
I mean, yeah, life sucks, right? I mean right this very minute you7 and yr family are being pinned down by crossfactional gunfire in a one room mudhut somewhere in the cold third world, right?
And if yr not, then shut the fuck up, send some money to the Red Cross, consider yrself lucky, pray if you must for fer Lester's sake GET ON WITH IT!
The Sex Pistols' sang of 'no future'. I figured out, far too late as itr happens, that they meant no future would be HANDED to you. You had to make it. But no. Dumb old drunk, young and impressionable me bought into the whole nihilist chic vibe that hung over my beloved punk rock like a shroud. Living like you've got nothing to lose 'cause there's nothing left - and you know this because you heard it in a fucking SONG! - is OK, I guess, when one actually DOES die young, but I speak from experience when I say that the 'everything sucks' credo I took away from punk rock does absolutely nothing to prepare one to be a 50something human being in the 21st century.
And, no, of course the 25 years of active alcoholism didn't help, but I'm pretty sure the midset came first. But minds change, right? People can change. It's one of the few things I truly believe and here's why.
I don't write much, only in passing really, about my drinking/getting sober experience, which is odd considering what a central part it is of who I am. Who am I? i'm the gut who writes lousy sentences like that one 2 lines back. I rant, rave, dismiss, insult and blaspheme but dammit I don't drink anymore. And if you were unfortunate enough to spend any length of time w/my drunken 20th century ass you'd know what an accomplishment that is. Maybe I don't write about it because it IS that central, perhaps even true and we all know how much I hate anything purporting to be the truth. In any event, I have to believe at least that people can change because I have to decide - every day - to remain sober.
See, even w/all the evidence and field experience I've gathered, which OVERWHELMINGLY proves that, for me, drinking is the proverbial one way ticket to Palookaville, rarely does a day go by that I don't THINK about having a beer. And every time I DON'T get drunk I'm changing and, barring childbirth I can't imaginer anything more painful, or complex, than getting - and staying - sober.
A small number of people (2) have asked me "How did you finally quit?" and the best answer that I have is that I finally disgusted myself. I went into my 1srt detox 'cause my landlord threw me out. I wasn't looking for salvation (still ain't, actually) I was looking for a roof. I had the bulletproof vest of cynical denial to prevent any help from reaching me for close to 5 years. AA meetings were nothing, well little, more than rooms full of people for me to argue with. My loss, of course, but I hung around long enough to meet the right 6 people and hear the right 10 things which I took w/me when I left AA and New York to come skidding to a halt on this godforsaken prairie determined to figure it out for myself.
It was 16 years last month.
Now what I've DONE with those 16 years hasn't always been much to write home about, but to even get to the stage where I can scew up w/out drinking required a commitment to saving my own ass of which I thought myself incapable. But now that I've figured out I care enough about myself to put the brakes to the slow suicide that made Milwaukee famous I realize that, once again, I'm just getting started.
FUCK!!!
Commiting to what now seems so small a goal as saving my own ass has resulted in jst that. My ass is saved, barely, paycheck to paycheck, in sickness and perceived betrayal etc. But, you know, I work, play music, care for 2 dogs and about 100 cats and I'm essentially enjoying being a regular guy.
But who am we kidding? I'm not a regular guy. What I needs to do now is commit me to some EXCELLENCE!
Which brings me, finally to the Killers.
Posted by: timbyrnes at 19:57 |
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