Don’t look back with regret. It’s not easy. Gaze back in anger. Living in the past is a ghost life. Unable to change or rearrange the thoughtless indiscretions of youthful folly. The spirit waxes and wanes with the tides of change. A wild child barfly who couldn’t abide without imbibing. The heart wants what the head cannot handle. I think, therefore I drink. Never one to shy away from drunken adversity, I wore my heart proudly emblazoned on a straight shot and decorated a proper pint. It was the unnatural way of coping with a reality that I wanted no part of. Not so much the everyday grind of an ordinary world in mediocre ways. It was more the final rejection of society and a lifetime of oppressive authoritarian systems I could never stomach. I’d say I accept the world on its rigid terms, but it’s only my repulsion towards it. The politics of religion are the same either way.
Turning my back on the church and state, I was born to serve no god or human. Pray for your soul, leave mine alone. No Pope, Cardinal, or Bishop. No king or overlord. Not even a perverted deacon or sister of mercy. I ran from the Catholic faith, discovering other gods and different demons. Jesus Christ is the biggest fan of doing unto others before they do it to you. A guy nailed to a cross isn’t comforting. The Bible’s fairy tales are a bunch of nonsense. The holier-than-thou congregation riddled with perverts and deviant disciples. An abnormal reaction to a false prophet giving it all away. I’m not a good, loving, hardworking Christian family person. It happened, I think, at an early age. A young barbarian gentleman. Having no use for the word of God, invent your own discourse. Fomenting division and discord. Fitting in wasn’t a strong point. I was trying to get out. A complete failure in the civilized society with lack of self-esteem, bad attitude, and a drinking habit. I danced around the obvious. Rattling bones and let out all the skeletons in the closet. Down at the crossroads with a gun in hand. Let’s go crazy. Get nutty as a fruit cake. To remember the good old days, the forgotten hangovers when you didn’t die but wish you could. A victorious death without dishonor. The mind is a terrible thing to think about.
It's the booze that’ll kill you. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow—most often you will never know. That’s how it goes when you are gone. Thank the gods for your good fortune. Damn them for your plight. Light another cigarette to curse the darkness. I’ve discussed this before in many strange ways and unusual places. Dark barrooms and nicotine fog blur the neon sign. The unknown face in the barroom mirror. Like you never left yet, gone too soon. Late-night talk about assorted topics. Fruitless discussions on this and that amounted to nothing.
Missing years, lost memories, quiet fears, crocodile tears, and flaming queens. No time left for happy hour. Munching complimentary peanuts and pretzels. Biding my time, minding your business. This life will kill the spirit, darken the soul, and leave the world, only to return in new frightful and insidious ways. Madness is the only relief. You lost the will to live in a civilized society. As joy disappears from wasted hours spent in shady dives. It’s a diversion from the stark realities of survival in the modern age. It could be any time, any day, a reprieve from the ticktock tedium in a neighborhood tavern.
As the years accumulate the combined dust of centuries, the historical record of plus and minus on the population scale of diminishing returns revisited. Afterlife is not before birth, but long after being born. We’re born without sin on a wicked planet. There’s no substitute for this kind of anti-social behavior that displays no remorse or supports discouragement. There’s nothing wrong with divine plans or sacred powers. Pray to whoever or whatever you desire. The derangement of the senses leads to the existence of hideous creatures that can love and care, despite their own monstrosities. Thanks to the gods. There’s no plan.