TWO SIDES OF ME
There are two sides of me. I cannot reconcile either end into a greater, meaningful whole. There are times when family feels sublime, drinking wine with the wife, in-laws, watching your child dance with fervor in front of the television. Then there are times you want nothing more than to slink away into the shadows, find a bar down some forbidden alley, and drink your fill… and then have one more for the road. It’s always better with company, but at this age copilots are few and far between, either heads or drunks that lack all sense of style.
It's fun to watch the Hedonistic territories be divided from the wholesome hills of familyhood. It's black and white, oil and water. You’re either in or out, a or not a, a Sneetch with a star or a Sneetch without… hahaha… and this is common, but why? Surely I’m not the only crossbreed out there who supplements holiness with a dash of debauch. I swear, when you drag into that dark bar of nowhere, nervous and alone as ever, there's nothing more divine than that first spirit passing your lips like holy water, burning your throat, your belly, your soul with the light of the holy ghost. Hallelujah! Funny how the straight and narrow decry such things while later staring longingly into their aging mirrors as they prepare for bed, for the dead.
My friend, time pays no mind to your righteousness. It turns and churns despite your choices, your plans, and that's something you're going to have to come to terms with if you want to make the most of it. I'm telling you, and this is coming from a neurotic, that playing it safe, playing it right is a waste of a life. You’ve already lived it. You've since made the most meaningful decisions and now, day after long day, you’re watching the results in syndication. Where's the fire? Where's absolute zero? Where’s that naked jump into the ice cold lake? Where's that warm wine swimming in your belly, that “vile” viscosity that helps you slide down the rainbow? Such things cannot be found by plan. In fact, they are the antithesis of plan. They are waiting in the shadows of plan to SHOW YOU WHO YOU ARE. And, if you've got any sense, you'll do your best to follow those apparitions. The sooner the better. For life, truly living, becomes exponentially difficult with each year after thirty.
Talk to my friends, the beautiful ones once filled with fire. They feel the burn of a different kind, one that consumes and degrades the soul into ash, when the living becomes automatic, mathematic, a robotic function from one preplanned milestone to another.
I love my family. I love my friends. I’m no better than the lot of them. Probably much worse. But that dark bar, that dark beauty with jukebox fever is enough to carry you from one dream to the next ad infinitum. And you’ll be better for it. Trust me.
