Alcohol & the Thoughts in Your Head
Monday, August 22nd, 2005Should you really say and do the things that come into your drunken mind?
Is it the alcohol? Or do we really feel like this. Was it something you wanted to do and that emotion took advantage of your control being under the influence and perhaps raped it enough for that “want or desire” to take it’s own control? That emotion or action you’ve wanted to do ever since you’ve felt it or seen it in a movie or read in a story. You do it just so you can say; “Now I know what it feels like. So that’s what it is all about. I did it. I finally did it.” Put a couple of those actions together and you might even feel alive. Things like: I told my boss off, I explained to my co-worker how much I’d give to “shoot it” all over her face or let me pleasure her like she has never been before. To tell your parents how you have your own life and should stop being measured by theirs. To finally tell that one friend of yours how really fucked up you think their life is and that the rest of you think they should consider ending it by swallowing a gun.
Wacky things. Crazy things without compassion or control. You ever do that? To let loose. Say these things; tell what you are really feeling? No more lies, no more bullshit, just the plain old truth. Naked as a babe in plain sight. That would be a feeling. People would be shocked. You would even be famous. What balls to come out and say it. Perhaps they’re cruel or mean but it would be true. In that moment of time, you would come clean (finally) and say what you want to say and nobody could do anything about it. No repercussions, no shame, no nothing. Damn that would be nice.
Things you know you are not supposed to do or even think. You ever do that? You’re stuck in traffic and slowly this thought comes in of you taking this big fucking gun out and blowing away the asshole in front of you. Then you wish you had a grenade for the idiot next to you checking his shave job in his rear view every two seconds. Like he will “pick up” the next girl over. What a tool. You finally take the rest of the traffic out with a nice small atomic detonation that would clear a smooth path for you.
And why would you think of all that? Because you are late for a job that you couldn’t give two shits about. Funny, you realize; you get up at the crack of dawn, shower, shave (ladies too sometimes), hurry fast, just to get yourself a nice spot in the log jam on the highway. Then, you look in the mirror and you say, “What the fuck am I doing? I am an idiot. I go to a job where I hate my work, my incompetent boss, or the least of which I think should have his/her job, and what exactly do I do?” No matter what it is, you come to the same conclusion. It’s all pointless. Nothing means anything. No matter what profession you do or how good your contributions are to society and the world; it’s all pointless.
The inevitable fact that there will be an end to it all, to everything, cause once your dead, it all means nothing. You start to think about not caring. That is when you think about that big gun and the grenade and the nuke bomb you want to use. You don’t care anymore. Why should you? It’s all pointless. Getting to work and filling out paperwork (everybody does it) for that other person doesn’t mean anything. Why should I help or care about the other guy? He’s probably going to screw me some way. Either by proxy or profession. Someday, because of this other guy, I’m going to take it one way or another. The question is; do you want a smile or smack when you get it?
