The Bottle

How my predilection for Jameson taunted and haunted me in swoons of reverie and room shaking, quaking, evaporating, liquid lothario dreamscapes. I grasped at the bottle ever so nicely and quivered and smiled and I imbibed the smooth lass. The tantalizing gulp, the harsh and beautiful traveling down my inviting throat. I was dumbstruck and fancy free. I willed and wished for more degradation and more alcohol; more more more I say within me and about me! Drop your graces and bend to my embraces. Just a little more sup in the midnight hour. Had enough of talk not spirits, gulp it down, no, savour it nicely, swirl it around and sniff at treasured aromas, roll it about the tongue that embraces the habit, that makes passions and advances to the whisky lover. How I crave thee. How I drop dollar for dollar on that wretched beautiful lie. My twisted dark fantasy. Tolkien world of wasted nights calling for another. Fall down, fail down, stripped of all embarrassment from so many a drink. Hued with the stench and stink of a louse, coloured with the brush of uncontrolled vice. Viceroy of the bottle. King rulah Abdullah foola droola.

And I kept going back to it once and again. I did indeed did the deed, unmasked the fool and danced the drunken dance of happenstance. This was an idol, my muse, my devil, my escape from reality. I’m just a poor boy give me no sympathy. As I tried to break myself from it it tempted me daily, hounded my thoughts and inner impressions and willed its way to my festering heart. Stomach gurgling carnal lust and snivelling desires. Throat just parched without it; a weak simpering emanated from it. I slipped a snifter here and there, took a low road with so many turns and I ended up in the same place.

I chanced one day in my happy happy gay bar to look upon my old confidante and spouse. I stared at it as if my whole salvation was right there. All the memories of the big bad just flouncing and pouncing upon me. One after the other trains of thought trampled my spirit and flashed loudly and brightly of the old days, the old ways, the old haze. I completely zoned out and obsessed over this green temptress, just sitting there faintly calling my name, just so, making entreaties in my wandering ear. Every feeling, every vomitous moment revealed and clinked in as I gazed upon the former life. I snapped out of it with a staring duo at my side. Must I always looks crazy?

So many days past since my last drop. I should feel good but really I miss the feeling I got back then, the nice high, just so, the wonderful warmth that no human ever gave me. Just me and the glass, clinking friends amore ami. I always find it odd we have these people and things which garnered such fondness and mixed emotions, positive still, and then we abandon them, toss them aside as we age and move one. At one time it means so much then poof, it is another lifetime away, doomed to back-of-the-attic brainstuff. Cobwebs gather and we struggle forth and focus our minds and the present day, the milieu of modern transactions holding no place for the former. This is life. So it goes Vonnegut.

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