Silly Grins

Friday, March 1, 2013


(For a man who wanted to be taken seriously, he'd get mighty angry when he was.)

"He did what?"

"He used to go on these tirades and tell me what was wrong with me." 

"What do you mean?"

"We'd have these sessions where he'd sit me down in a room and just lecture me. It could go on for hours." 

"That's crazy. Why... how... I don't understand at all." 

"That's what alcohol can do to some people. And I went along with it. You see, he had a good side. That's what I was attracted to." 

"Yeah, he could be really nice." 

"He was a very intelligent man." 

(How many pages did he write? Wanting to know him, as an adult, Will only ever could get halfway through his one and only book. There words were pretty, the writing was nice... yet it didn't seem to go anywhere.)

"I'm surprised you sat through that. If I had known..."

"Alcohol makes people crazy. And the people around them, especially if they are co-dependent. When I got my head straight, instead of doing nothing, I brought in a pad of paper and a pen and told him that I was ready to listen."


"And I took notes on that lecture he gave. At one point, I said, 'To make things clear and to make sure I understand what you are saying, that I am following, I'm going to read back to you what you just told me.' And before I was finished reading the first few pages, he asked me to stop. He hadn't realized how crazy he'd become." 

"That assho..." 

"Now wait. I played a part of this too. By allowing myself to go along with it."

(Thinking about it now, maybe he was too peaceful in that he didn't spend enough down time with his dark side. With an either or approach to good vs bad, right vs wrong or whatever, oversimplified organized religious tendencies tend to break things down that are far more complex than simply 'going up' or or 'going down'. Life's got more meaning than a day of judgment where a soul is either given a pair of wings or a shovel. Anyway, that darker side got hold through the bottle. Man, he could down a fifth of whiskey in minutes, whether is be in a bathroom stall at a bus stop or just about anywhere that urge took hold. And he could hold it together like no one else could. Guess you get lots of practice when you're conducting services, the tearful unions and departures. He'd really wanted to practice law. Could let his dark side shine for good. Chaplain or lawyer... hell, he already had his wings, a Harley... all he needed to do was grab for that shovel. Like anyone would a' tried to stop him. Those theological contrivances did little to quench his thirst for blood; all he could manage to do was tilt back that bottle of spirits.)

"No, Will. No use wishing him hell. He lived in his own."

"And you made it out."

"It was a trial."


  1. Your my favorite blogger by far right now Will. Nobody is holding a candle to you....they can't see it yet.

    Having been in a cell with a man who decapitated his Gf and buried her halfassed in the beach sand and spending time in my own mind...I can honestly say that my own horrors of guilt are far worse than what anyone else could do to me. I fear my lack of fear of the external but am terrified of my own mind. What did my mother want to say? Does she know I was alive when she died?...she didn't..I know she didn't know. How many years in a cell with nut cases do I have to spend to get back one day and 10 minutes of face time with a dying mom? Open the cell..I'm coming in....I'm walking out of one that is much scarier.

    Wishing Hell on folks already there?......might as well spit in the ocean.

    1. Thank you for the compliment. These last two posts came up early the other morning, so there's no real plan to it.

      Lights that shine so bright encourage all those around to grow and glow. Keeping shadows in check... I fear most those who profess to have none.

      Awake at an early hour, the world was quite as my thoughts were attempting to make sense of the memory of someone. The boy had a mind of quantifiable brilliance belonging to a man who'd witnessed many things. Essentially the end results of what started out as a rebellious decision were related to the drink... drink from a bottle that sank into a kind of chaotic sea of emotion. The bottle's stowaway drown in the pain of unfathomable sadness.

      In front of me sits a log written during the three season of calm, a brief sober period before the cork was removed one final time.

      She's a vast ocean.

  2. "Alcohol makes people crazy. And the people around them, especially if they are co-dependent. When I got my head straight, instead of doing nothing, I brought in a pad of paper and a pen and told him that I was ready to listen."

    Nice. Everyone has something we can learn from; even the worst of the worst have their shining moments. The hard part is knowing where exactly to separate the wheat from the chaff.

    1. All he needed was to wait till the water was calm, then peer over the edge and see his reflection.

      Knowing how to do anything, what to take and what to leave - knowing takes a kind of wisdom usually gained through experience and subsequently requires patience (damn!). Those seemingly empty moments of waiting.

      (takes a step away from the shadow of the canyon wall, eyes open)

      The wind is picking up...

  3. She was right, no sense in cursing the cursed. I used to when I was young, curse my dad for being the prick he is. But I didn't have to see him, live with him or talk to him. He can never get away from himself no matter how hard he tries and I am sure it is pure torment.

    As for looking for answers/relief/escape at the bottom of a bottle. Nothin' ever there, just emptiness looking back. And yet you grab the next bottle looking for the same answer knowing you will find nothing again; but you do it anyways. After my first divorce I had a tough time with my escape/relief methods and I am glad I pulled my head out of my ass. REALLY glad! I don't want to look in a mirror and see my own dad looking back at me.

    1. Yeah, she's right. At the end of the day, I only end up cursing myself.

      Speaking of divorce(s), when I was younger, I used to joke about having had at least one or two behind me by this time in life. Looks like my lack of planning has backfired. No escape. And I'm not about to start looking into the bottle for my support.

      Though the word 'marriage' may have eight letters in it, that institution does require 'work' and that other four-letter word. Tons of fun.

      When it comes to drink, a bottle half full is good enough.