Monday, November 10, 2008

AN ALCOHOLIC IN A Q IS A DANGEROUS SITUATION

This morning I got up at 9.45, got on my knees and spoke candidly to God in order for him to enter my day. He agreed to guide me and mind me on condition I exert a tiny smidgen on my already questionable effort to helping other human beings. I am an Alcoholic, Addict and Compulsive Gambler. I am a mad man. I am insane at the best of times. Totally fucking nuts at the worst of times. If my intentions for my day is to please myself - then I will eventually achieve my goal through killing myself with addictions and escapism that are out to destroy me.

As far as my relationship with God goes - I'm a bit like a lodger in one of those corny German movies who suddenly arrives at the door, asking to be given bed and board for some unnecessary painting and gardening jobs. A man so full of conditional love that my fourth name should be Al Capone. A human being with all sorts of compulsions and addictions coming out my ears, eyes and lies. A walking maelstrom of unreal fears made all the more terrifying because of my tendency to live in a candy-covered dreamworld.

There is something really awful about reality, even without addiction, it is often boring, tedious and repetitive. For those of us who are lucky to live in Western Society, it is by-and-large a mediocre realism of day-to-day struggles, smothered in lashings of egocentric resentments and frothy-eyed dementia. For the rest of the human race it is a nightmare of daily survival without any respite, quivering at the thoughts of the continuous cycle of breathing in and out. I guess one could concentrate on that shit all day -he'd get nowhere, except to a dark pattern of abstract and useless plans. Fighting for the will to smile. Making motives of self-fulfillment his one and only goal in life. Blaming everyone except himself for having no coffee on the shelf.

Anyway, back to this morning.

At 10'ish, I strolled to the local shop, only to find a Q 40 metres in length, 3 feet wide and ten wankers short of an English Rugby team. While I was waiting for the German cashier to get it together - I was eyeing up a tough-looking dude in the corner who thought himself to be a fit boxer from some place in East London. I had met those guys before and I did not want to converse. He had probably got out of bed, just like me, angry at frustrated at his place in society, too chicken to randomly hit a police man, too angry to tell anyone about it. He held a packet of cheap razors(ouch), 2 beers and a magazine about camper vans. He was probably a nice guy when he wasn't in a Q similar in size to the ones you see outside a Communist Bakery.
We continued to randomly tell each other to 'fuck off' without actually opening our mouths.

After a few moments of intense staring I made a decision to back down on this one. It was plain for all to see that the guy wasn't capable of thinking in peaceful patterns. There were far weaker clients in the Q than me, many scared old women that would have made better targets for his rage.

My carton of Milk was leaking and the cashier didn't give a rats ass about it. My over-grown toe-nail had made its way out of my sock. I turned my head, stared at my shoes, remembered that Anger for me is 'The Dubious Luxury of normal men' - in other words, I had to stop letting my crazy, out of control Ego determine how my day was going to go. No person, place or thing could side-track me. I had to turn my head because no matter how angry I am - other people have the right to be fucking angry as well. I must avoid it like the bubonic plague. I am an Alcoholic and an Addict, too dumb to have any real self-awareness when it comes to stepping over the danger line, especially when it comes to morning rage.

Anger destroys my mind. The addictive blood runs red with it - it is over-flowing from the well of an over-sized ego. It is the reason you and me fail to find freedom. It is the lost Opus of your tendency to self-destruct and it is completely useless to anyone but sorrow and suffering.

I paid for my healthy biscuit breakfast and left the shop. I rubbed the mongrel dog at the door - leaving with a packet of biscuits, milk, coffee and peace of mind. I could get on with my day in a safe zone of simplicity. There is nowhere else to live. I have given up my right to escapism. I have finally accepted the daily grind. I am happy in my crazy struggles. I am recovering one day at a time - hoping I avoid meeting that dude in the shop when both of us happen to be in the same zone as him.

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