The International Writers Magazine:Demons in a bottle
The Thievery of an Alchoholic
What a complicated perusal into the maleficence of A “DRUNK”…. One need not serve in office to deceive and steal. Just being a member of humanity, living in civilized lands, being present to the public at large, qualifies each for citizenship, with requisite honesty and proper conduct
From a life of relative peace to seismic activity that rocks personal grounds with collateral disastrous implications we drunkards stop treading lightly but run-amuck and it “don’t” begin with a can of beer, nor does it start with a glass of chardonnay, and the olive dipped into the cocktail, retrieved, then slipped between sultry lips to fester - this also is not the inaugural delivery……
It’s the raucous ‘spirit’ of the drunk-ass-fool whose heritage has done him wrong… badly wrong!
Apparently, from the beginning, as new born babes, the quick swipe across our tender swollen lips with our slithery probing tongue leaves us at an unknown loss. But when our tongues are set in motion and we mature, that probing wanting desperation increases as a certain dryness settles in. Wadies microscopically form just below our lips surface, and an expected rush of liquid, a peculiar liquid mixed with former spirits of our corrosive past -spirits with proclivities/tendencies/ and bents that most often will never straighten out, those damned colluding devils have rung the bell and expect entrance, demand it, proclaim their rite of passage and with familial smiles declare kinship from generations past. In a flash they fill the dry cracks with such sweet syrup and bitter tonics.
And so we press the query forward;
What? …. We’ve stolen your sorry ass!.....When?....When your granddad drank his family fortune away!!...Where?....Before you were born - where the commencement of thieveries always begins!!!....
And now that damned knock.
We shouldn’t have opened the door. Now we’re beguiled and guaranteed to be robbed. We’re not robbed of life but common sense/ decency and in turn we set our sights undeliberate but with precision/effectively on the unsuspecting -including those we are closest to. Our family spirits, swirling in bottles, entice/beckon via lingering enchantments and they say to us fools… ‘Come- take a swallow or two, swallow it and then ask for more…. Enjoy our machinations and delusions without consequence. You’ll not be judged but emboldened, empowered to leave inhibitions at the rear and to put your iron foot forward. Kick hard and topple ‘all’ without consideration or care, crush without sympathy, adjudicate on your own terms, call others motives into question not your own, accept their enfeebled minds and physical weakness as permission to run amuck, and let the God damned cat out of the bag!!..... We are your devils after all! We’re here for you don’t you know?
Well do we?
And do you think it stops there? In the night hours when we slip under covers and settle in, slowly allowing rest to tranquillize and lull to sleep… In the least we hope, when our eyes blink methodically from the slowing of consciousness, just when the blinks have reached their last, we pray for slumber…. What a colossal mistake! The minions, my cousins as if jennies in an flask, loud their magic their strength and with bodily jolts and sudden commanding distinguishable voices, they prevent the sweetness of sleep from ever being realized; for hour on damn hour this ensues to an indeterminate end…Why doesn’t the metal container incarcerate them and well-nigh drown them into hellish oblivion!
They’re already in hell and are dead!
The warmth of the liquid is precious as it flows unreservedly through arteries, arterials, capillaries, venial, veins, and is returned to the master pump en route to its circuitous flow a second, third, and even a fourth time …..Our blood is now full of ‘libations’ and it aint no joke. The ‘graft’ has been perpetrated, taught, and is undergirded with melodious liquid sounds that serenade us fools and once we’re familiar with those voices from the past, the ones that robbed granddad of purpose and stole my families fortunes away, the transfusion is completed and it is their voice, and theirs alone, that we hear readily, steadily, and in full compliance.
Now all are at risk.
The wallets and pocketbooks of family and friends become targets when self-worth is cast to the wind and sympathies are preyed on. The lines of communication cannot be severed, ever! Our life is now defined in distilled water mixed with cheap grain at values so minimal that we sacrifice ‘purpose’ and all under its umbrella. Coins for the first time have tremendous value. Paranoia sets in as nickels, dimes, and even pennies hide in sofas, under front seats, escape to corners of dresser drawers, find refuge under our beds, and they dare not reveal the whereabouts of a delinquent dollar. $6.57 cents looms large with the sad few hours of pleasure it can buy.
Those damned Russians and their cheap ‘drink’!
Now we’ve come full circle. The community of devils with their indomitable personalities exercise/enforce despotic power without restraint. We are prescribed a spoon filled with liquor every hour on the hour to temper our maniacal bents. The little devils now control the narrative, visceral anguish is par for the course, and troublesome thoughts are followed up with tremors and uncontrollable ‘vomits’, hostilities are around every damned corner, and figuratively there are no earthworks/ breastworks in which to hide…. At the behest of their 'legion' those of our past surely suffered ‘tonics’ poured mercilessly down their throats but no need to point fingers, quarrel, and be sore; it ‘don’t’ vanquish the villains!
I’m the idiot who wished they wouldn’t have opened that shitty door.
But guess what? They did.
© Roy Valenzuela June 2014
synergynow66 (at) gmail.com
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