Guts or Gut Rot
If whiskey were water, I would never wake up with a hangover. Then again, I might not ever wake up at all. A spark can't go too strong for very long before it blows itself out. If it doesn't have a current to follow along, it at least needs to be steadied.
You can see there's still fire in all of our hearts. Rioting, heavy music, the tragic murder suicide that happens when a marriage starts to fall apart.
There's no denying that we have the guts. Society was built on men who had guts.
But we all still sit around in our lazy boy chairs. Or on our rickety computer chairs. Or even on our backpacks, we set down by the side of the road.
We still sit here, impotent in the face of whatever our real monster is.
We can't live an entire life throwing Molotov cocktails around. We get tired.
Whiskey keeps me calm. Keeps me from burning out too fast.
There are kids getting shot by cops a few states away, right now. I wish it didn't happen like that. I could get up and walk away from this desk, grab my pistol and hitch hike over there. I could stand up in the riots, fight for what I believe in.
But I'd lose my job. Couldn't pay the rent. If I survived that valiant stand against tyranny, I just wouldn't have a home to come back to.
That wouldn't help me, none.
So I'll pour another glass of this bottom shelf whiskey and read back over the old newspapers. Read about every time this has happened before.
And I'll be glad that I've dulled my fire.
But when the bottle's gone, and I'm laying in my bed with the spins, I'll keep on wondering.
Wondering why I think I deserve this fucking bed. Why I deserve this fucking bottle of whiskey. It could have been a weapon, could have helped bring someone freedom.
I'll wonder how I can live with myself, knowing that I don't try. Knowing that I clearly don't give a damn about any woman or man outside my personal field of perception.
When I wake up in the morning and stumble around, grabbing for my underwear, I won't even think of it.
I'll throw my work clothes on and head out to work, again. Because I like to eat at around dinner time.