When a car accident happens or a man is shot on the street, there are usually two kinds of reactions to be noticed. People would either walk towards the incident trying to figure out a way to make things better or they'd just rush away from it as fast as they can… and of course there's always the guy with the camera taking pictures.

My life has always been… an "incident". I guess its time for me to grab as many chairs as I can from the living room to welcome my presumed "saviors" into the back of my mind and have them group-therapy me, and by group therapy, I mean one presumed patient and many, many people who have nothing better to do than sit there and try to read my hidden messages, my save me notes. Care for a drink? I have plenty of shampoo here and I'm not even that hairy. They say it cleanses the soul.

Everybody wants to be somebody's therapist. It's fun to play the Savior's role. It makes you feel better about yourself when you feel the power to heal, when you feel the strange rush that flows through your veins asking you to start curing the blind and dying masses. Everybody wants to inspire somebody else, be the one they go to when they're in trouble to talk, be their knight in shiny bullshit. Don't we just feel great when we overhear them say 'He's a good listener. He saved me.' Be your very personal Jesus. We all possess that same miraculous power, surprisingly… not.

It's only when you lay back in your own personal throne, by yourself, with yourself, stare at your own reflection in the all classical wine glass that you begin to grasp the notion, the wisest of them all. You're not Jesus. You're not the devil. You are not God. You're just as weary and pathetic as everybody else. You're the one who should seek therapy. You're the one who should seek the listener. It's in that moment, when you begin facing your doubts, when you start doubting that you are ever gonna be forgiven, redeemed back to heaven, that's when you start seeking redemption in the best listener of them all, Al Cohol. The eternal struggle between man and drink, a football match between men and boys, always end up with a moment of clarity and a very, very bad case of hangover. You start drinking, drowning in and sinking your worst fears and doubts. Your "visions" begin… with solo guitar tunes playing in the background, soundtrack from the good ol' 60's motion picture 'the fall of the czar', theme song to our generation's humiliation. The guitar strings are the same puppets strings that move you around with its mighty grace. That's when you realize that you've never learned to play guitar, never took dance lessons, never even liked guitar solos.

Drink up. Introduce the rest of the band to your messed up head. It's all rock 'n' roll inside now, with a bitter aftertaste on the side. And the theme song plays in the background of your impaired mental faculties. That's when the mist clears off and you see things a bit clearer. Gin is today's penicillin, I suppose. It doesn't surprise me, not anymore it doesn't, that alcohol is directly related to medicine. It is true, you learn, that every drink has a silver lining, your true moment of clarity. It's right before the hang over that your fears become visualized, that your dragon comes to life. It's when you drink, not because you want to feel more casual, but because you want to sink in your own brain in a glass of acid that may or may not taste like wine, soak it in like a sponge and squeeze your fears out without feeling a thing. The resemblance couldn’t be more uncanny. It exists when you lose control.

It's when you can't see your own reflection in the mirror, when you reach out… to hold your own breath, when you reach out to hold the one you love only it's too late. It's when you feel THAT helpless. It's when you cry not because of how sorry you are, but because of tear gas caused by a grenade rebelling against a peace treaty that you've signed with your own integrity.

It's when you fall for forbidden love. It’s when you fall.

It’s when you have your heart stepped on… with your own naked feet, when you have your dreams crushed underneath that pillow designed to bring comfort to your head.

It's when you feel betrayed by your best friend. It's self-betrayal and self-revenge. It's when you loose sight of how low you really are. It's self seduction. It's self loathe.

It's when you start seeing shades of blue, red dots, a reaching hand, an shadow of an imaginary hero - your personal savior, and the edges of a trench that you're crouching deep within with green fumes surfing over the edges… with no hope up ahead. It's when you want to stay in… for as long as it takes. It's your wish not to suffocate, your wish not to die.

It's when you go broke, when you pick the wrong number on the fucking roulette. It's when you settle for the Russian version of the same casino game, only this time you make sure that all slots are loaded. It's a win-win situation. That's what you tell yourself. That's when you die wondering whether this was all worth it.

It's when you walk on a sandy shore by a pure turquoise ocean and wonder how long you can hold your breath in the water. It's when you pick up a seashell and listen to the sound of the ocean with your own voice in the background crying for help. It's when you realize you never learned how to swim. It's when everything starts tasting like blood, stinking like rot of human flesh. It's when you start sinking down to the bottom of the pure turquoise ocean, watching pretty little bubbles leaving your body along with your every last bit of hope. Drown baby, drown into your own drink of solitary mediation, your promise of better things. It's when your lungs explode, when you become one with nature, when you become none.

It's when you take the pills and wait and wait, then wait a bit more, then you start wondering what's with the mint taste. It's when you wait for weekends, one week to the next. It's when you wait for death to teddy-bear hug you. It's when you wait.

It's when you slice up your wrist and refuse to die just so you can sit there and watch the blood gushing out of your own veins. It's when you admire the sight. It's when you go for your camera in an attempt to hold on to this moment for ever. It's self hate. It's self love.

It's when you wish you were that guy in the middle of the "incident" taking pictures, the ever neutral Switzerland. We don't choose our incidents, they choose us, life has taught me that and the lesson was priceless…

It's when you realize that somewhere down the road… you really, really fucked up.

Drink up ol' champ… it just ain't worth it.

It's when you find Jesus in the bottle. It's when you pull the trigger.

Posted by Яαgιи Яαvєи on Saturday, July 15, 2006 at 7/15/2006 05:44:00 AM | Permalink