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Thursday, April 7, 2011

drink.

Some drink to remember....

She was way past her prime, a worn out relic of a world that maybe never existed. Her beauty had faded, her face was wrinkled and jaunty, carrying all the pain of the world. Her inner beauty had been sold a long time ago, it's always the purchase before the soul and that had gone too as time went by. There was nothing and no-one in her life but the girl in the mirror and she hated her as much as any of the dozens of men who crossed her path.

And so she drank.

She would enter a pub and ask for the cheapest dirtiest liquor available, it always gets the job done faster anyway,the irony of this would have struck anyone else, she of all the high class drinks reduced to this. But she could afford a wry smile of acknowledgemnet even less than she could afford one of the drinks she used to gulp. Irony is lost on the miserable ans when the world was this ugly why smile?

Life had always been ugly but now she was too and so she drank.

The liquor coursed through her veins and broke through her blocks, a mental cure for amnesia and within a blink of an eye she was a dame again, the doll of the town, the girl to be seen with. She had been one of those rare beauties, the kind that everyone agreed on, even her. She would walk into a room and thought would stop. All her life she had been told she was beautiful so it wasn't her fault she knew. She knew beauty was power and that's why all those boys gave her sweets when she was younger and that's why all these men gave her drinks right now. She had the kind of dazzling smile that demands an automatic response . Life was a bowl of happiness and she liked to be happy.

And so she drank.

She remembered only the good things though, she failed to remember the curse of beauty, of a lopsided beauty. One that only shown out with no counterpart inside to let it in at night so that together they could pass the lonely nights. The nights she didn't spend alone were so much worse for her even then she had nobody and life was a wisp, traces untouched. She wondered why no-one wanted anything more from her. She never stopped to consider it may have been because she never demanded anything of herself. The curse of a lopsided beauty was that the loneliness could become acidic. And she tried to neutralize the acid by giving in to her base desires. But it didn't work. The funny thing about loneliness is you can feel it everywhere. It stalks you when you are alone with your thoughts, finds you when you are hiding in a crowd of people and even peeps at you when you are in bed with a lover. There really is no escape but that which comes from within however her beauty had no counterpart. Maybe that's why she started drinking, but she didn't think about those things.

Still she drank.

To hear her talk she was the happiest of all of god's humans, jumping from one party to the next, from one city to the next, from one man to the next. To hear her talk the fires of envy would be stoked but only if you could force yourself to believe her. She seemed totally at odds with what she was saying. There was nothing there. She liked to drink because it helped her remember and then it helped her forget. She would drink until the dark came to claim her and then she would drift away into memories of nothing. The saddest part is that without her outer beauty her inner one may have been given the chance to flourish. And if it had when she smiled, when she truly smiled she would have been seen for the beauty she was but drink had drowned her inner beauty. It was adrift in a sea of gin, vodka, rum, whiskey, brandy. If you peered inside her eyes now all you would see was blackness. That's all she wanted to see when she went to sleep.

And so she drank, to remember.

Some drink to forget....

The rain pattered outside he had always liked listening to the rain. Little drops of hope and life falling, from the sky it had always made him feel so alive, but he was way past hope. It was nearly closing time and he wasn't drunk enough yet, he could hope for another beer but that wouldn't get him anywhere. So he asked for a bottle of the cheapest , dirtiest liquor available. He held his hope in his hand and threw it down his throat and hope found a way burning past throats and into stomach harming his liver a little more. It was worth it though hope felt good.

And so he drank.

Nardine Gordimer would have said that he drunk in order to deaden the pain of his intelligence, to kill the memory of his potential. He had been going places, a man with a dream and with people who believed in it. Too bad those places were now the bar he thought wryly. He hadn't lost his sense of irony though humour, irony's necessary counterpart was dead in a past he tried not to consider. He had always known he was smart, an undeniable fact. His teachers told him so, his parents told him so, his grades told him so and he knew. He knew he was destined for greatness. That the path lined up for him was one of gold. He knew that he had let this path rot and turn to nought, but he didn't like to think about that.

And so he drank.

He would take a shot to wipe away the memory of his mother disappointed in her only hope, her golden boy who was now nothing but a disappointment. He knew that she loved him still and perhaps this is what pained him the most her love. It meant that she was hurting when she turned him away. He could still remember the tear she tried so valiantly to hold back as she showed him the door. The crack in her voice as she told him that love has its limits. He knew she was lying, love didn't have limits and that was th only way she had the courage to turn him away, flesh of her flesh, mind of her mind as she used to say. He smiled wryly as he thought of that. A wry smile was the only one available to him now. He felt no joy, he could barely remember it but he could remember the pain in his mother's eyes.

And so he drank.

He should have been kinder, more accommodating, not everyone was born with his genetic gift but he had no time for those who weren't. As a result he spent a lot of time in his head, arrogance pouring out of every pore. He didn't know it but he was dreadfully lonely and alone. There was a despair within him that he couldn't understand. He wanted to fill it with ambition but that's not how loneliness works. If you leave it alone it grows like a cancer. Desperate not to be lonely itself it fills in the blanks with more of it until you begin to take notice. But when he began to take notice he had no idea how to make it go away. He felt cold after sex, perhaps even worse because he would place such hope in it and it's ability to correct only to find out he was the same afterward a lonely shell lost on a beach in a faraway ocean.

And so he drank.

He drank to kill how he felt. He drank because he was alone and didn't want to feel that fact, he drank because all of life's great disappointments bared down on him. A train that could not be stopped. A train of thoughts that started and ended with his inadequacies. He drank because he thought too much and the liquor whirling around his brain circuits made them soggy and that was good, to be soggy. If he drank enough he would see the black he so desperately wanted to see. he could blink away the world and not think for a while.

And so he drank, to forget.