It all started after the Inca restaurant when we went over to Karen's and met Josie the French-Canadian motorcyclist who learned to speak English in a grocery store in Texas. Graduating from beer to whisky, Scott proposed starting a cult to exploit stupid people. I countered that real power was in corporatism when it came to exploitation but found myself at a complete loss as to the product we would sell. Bullshit, Scott replied, we can sell 'em that - so, yeah, I'm thinking about it... Scott asks if I am an atheist or an agnostic and I really don't know how to answer. Atheists can be strident and agnostics just confused & so finally admit I don't care if there's a god or not & if there is, I doubt god gives too much of a shit either.
There was champagne! There was Josie's birthday! We all shared a taste in this fragile moment of ease.
The women were ready to go home but ultimately we thwarted them seeking more ice and the curious deep golden color of booze from the kitchen. I won't go into all of the detail, but the party moved to Scott & Leah's place. At this point I can't go into detail. There's not much I am certain of & I don't remember the drive home though you'll be glad to know I was not driving.
I wonder now why I defend people believing what they believe, with their magical underpants and torture films and mole people empires - probably some misguided sense of individualism. The world is drowning in bullshit. Tar balls of it wash up on the beach every day. Where do get off telling anyone otherwise? What compels this sickness in me?
4 comments:
Double plus good this. A quality bit of writing. Proper. Reminds me of someone id love to read and find hard to put down.
Good christ, Mike... It's fourteen hours since I wrote this and I am still wounded...
Worse still, I found out I defended Andrew Jackson's removal policies to a Cherokee friend.
I ventured into assholishness last night...
I was thinking how good *art* or writing is born of suffering, experience, and reflection. Maybe I thought you were Bukowski for a second, no but knowing it was you in a brutal brawl with reality. Im sorry if i came off as if your life was like good fiction. gripping though. compelling.
You can be an asshole when your blacked out (or practically if not) drunk?
Possibly I should reread with a new lens. I think something is good when i feel socked in the guts by it.
a few month ago, I was socked in the face a couple of times ... and i was amazed ... that it actually felt good. In fact, i remarked that the person doing the hitting could go ahead and continue if would make them happy (as it was actuality, just fine with me). But i ramble in my attempt to commiserate.
I hope you mend well. I hope things are ok with your Native American friend.
Sorry Mike... I meant my comment in a more exasperated & general way. It was not a criticism of you responding to me at all, just another means to explain how far out I took it the other night.
Sometimes there are no detours from assholishness & I went there with a vengeance the other night. I didn't get punched in the face but you never know about next time.
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