Quite a Life. An excerpt from Phoenix Crashing

It was a morning like many others. My mouth was as dry as a 50 year old prostitutes nether regions and crusted in the corners. I licked my chapped lips to wet them to no avail. My eyes unable to bare the sight of yet another day in this urine stained shit pit remained closed.

The darkness, my oldest friend comforted me as I gathered my thoughts. What day was it? Friday? Sunday? I did not know and for that matter did not fucking care in the least. My head was throbbing. I smiled. Quite a life.

I will just lie here for another moment I thought. It had been 3 years since my wife left me. God bless her she had lasted longer than any of the others. 7 years. She must have broken a mirror or walked under a ladder. I laughed. Now I was up.

I opened my eyes slowly as I was not yet entirely sure if I were in Hell or not. The walls that mirrored my soul were still barren. Close enough I thought. Close enough.

I pulled the blanket I had purchased for 1.50 at the local second hand store off me. I mused at the tragedy of this blankets existence. It was once probably owned by a nice suburban family with a nice house, 2 and half kids and was washed routinely and probably smelled of lavender or whatever other fruity shit those with ambitions and dreams that had not yet let the world extinguish used. For the winter of this blankets years had not been kind. It had not been washed since it was purchased 8 months ago. It currently smelled of horse piss and was covered in semen and vomit. I couldn't help but make a small correlation to my life. Sorry old friend you have been good to me I thought. Today is the day I shall rinse you off and let you dry. Possibly in the toilet. I let out a large belly laugh.

The body that lie beneath showed that of an Adonis. A hairy chest and stomach so bloated that not only could I not even see my dehydrated, shriveled manhood anymore but one would think I was in my second trimester entering the third. A true Greek god I thought. Perhaps one needs more exercise than simply walking a few blocks to the liquor store daily. Perhaps one will never know. Quite a life.

I rolled over and steadied myself on the side of the bed. Steady as she goes ol boy. It had been 4 years now since I had picked the bottle back up and once again began navigating the ensuing rabbit hole of debauchery. This was not my first trip into the abyss, the madness. But by far the deepest. There was no end in sight.

What of love you ask? I fathom that its fickle flame is what makes this world burn. Burn with bitterness. Burn with hate. I digress for I am 4 years into a binge that has no end in sight A binge into the bottom reaches of the shell where my soul once was. A kaleidoscope of shattered glass and broken dreams that give vision to the illusion, the facade I had sold my soul for. What of love you ask?

I rose shakily to my feet. I needed to make it to my throne 15 paces away to relieve the pain in my bowels. How long had I been asleep? I walked through the entry where the bathroom door had once been. Pulled off and lost in a blackout rage awhile back. No recollection of it's whereabouts. A true mystery. I didn't bother to flip the light switch as the bulb had also been a casualty of that particular evening. As my bare feet touched the linoleum I felt them stick. for aim had not always been one of my many skills while under the influence. I sat down and the seat which was loosened by the weight of my poor decisions rocked from side to side. Quite a life.

I finished my business and turned around to admire my handy work. The toilet bowl resembled that of a Jackson Pollock painting. A true artist. My talent is truly unrivaled in this world I thought.

Now that I had finished all that I had planned for the day I decided I deserved a refreshment. I glided as gracefully as a newborn calf towards the sink. I lifted the lever and the golden nectar of the gods flowed in abundance. I let it run for a bit to cool down and turn just a tad less yellowish as I was not in the mood for breakfast. I leaned over and gulped as though I hadn't hydrated in days. In fact unless you count the ice cubes and cheap rum I had not. Rum. Now there is an idea I was truly in my prime now.

I went to the freezer to retrieve my bottle. To my surprise there was still some in there. A rarity in my line of work. Maybe today is the one it all turns around chappie. I reached for the ice cube tray only to find it empty. Alas, a deep depression set in. This cruel world is just too much at times.

I wandered about my humble abode in search of a glass. No small feat as only 2 remained unbroken from the set we had received as a wedding gift. Fools. It was never meant to last. And now I was reaping the rewards of your ignorance. Well not yet. Where is my fucking glass. It is times like these one must improvise, adapt and overcome. Hoo Ya. I took a pull directly from the bottle. It warmed me.

Clothes. I should put on some clothes I thought. I looked for my dresser. A black construction strength trash bag. I found a pair of socks within a acceptable state of disrepair. A white t shirt sweat stained and a size to small that made look as if I were an out of work belly dancer. A pair of khaki dress pants that are only a buck a piece and always available at the thrift shop. I often wondered if the well off wore a different pair every Sunday to church. The bastards. Fuck them and their fancy pants. Who was I to judge as i was now wearing them. I opted out of underwear as I no longer owned a pair that made the cut of a man of my social prowess. True class.

Where was my goddamn glass? Son of a bitch. a man doesn't ask for much in this world. Throw me a fuckin bone here. As if by fate a glimmer caught my eye as the sun reflected upon my dear old glass. My best friend. Old faithful. For this, the next to last glass in my dwindling collection had been with me 6 months now. The last was tucked away under the bed where it was free from my late night destructive outbursts.

I needed to wrap my head around the day. I strolled to the love seat in the middle of my little slice of Hell as I liked to call it. The love seat had seen better days but hell hadn't we all. I sat down and placed the bottle on the small coffee table I had found on the street during one of my adventures to the booze emporium. I stared blankly at where the small TV I had once owned had been.

My last attempted sexual encounter 2 weeks ago was with a palatable woman down the hall in 3 C named Cassie. She was also the current owner of the TV. I had seen her around in the halls from time to time in varying stages of inebriation offering to pay her for services rendered. She smiled coyly so I always knew there was a chance so I persisted. It was Tuesday the 11th of May when I saw her last when she stopped me in the hallway after a night of one of my booze fueled escapades. She was in poor spirits as she told me her child was distraught because their TV had stopped working that day. I decided to play my hand and invite her for a drink. Much to my surprise she obliged.

As she entered my bachelor palace she was not disgusted. That made one of us. I directed her towards the love seat as I fetched my trusty bottle from the freezer and the ice cube tray. I rinsed off my sole glass in the sink, added ice and 3 fingers of rum. I presented this to her and she took a sip. Recoiling as the liquor hit her throat as happens with those uninitiated to the wiles of alcoholism. She thanked me. I took a large pull from the bottle, placed it on the table and sat next to her. We began to chat of how life had led us to this point and this rundown building in particular. I found her interesting as damaged women had always been my muse. You could tell she wanted to talk but at the same time had built the prison wall high in her mind. Something I could relate to. I grabbed the bottle and took another pull as encouragement for to release her inhibitions and take another sip herself. She did and began to relax as the liquor tends to make one do.

She began to talk of an impoverished childhood and how she wanted to travel but had never left the city. Never could put the money together she said. One day she said. They all said that. Yet so many never find their way out. Truly sad. I have come to find those that never leave the place they grew up to be the most highly opinionated. Not her though she was different. Their was an understanding in her eyes of her place in this life. She was comfortable just surviving. A quality I found to be very endearing.

She was trying her best to take care of her 12 year old son Max. A boy that save for coming and going from school I had seen very seldomly out and about. This was no place for a child. This was no place for a dog. A rabid one maybe. Max like many of today's youth lived his life in front of a television. Taking in the essence of sitcom after sitcom. One wonders how you could ever judge a kid brought up in squalor for wanting to escape. He pulled C's in school and did not enjoy his time there. It was a school with 1450 little snot nosed bastards enrolled. I felt for the kid.

I had flashbacks to my time navigating the mine field of social hierarchy. It was about his age when I had started drinking to numb myself from the day to day meaningless bullshit that life forces upon you against your will. The fuckers. Mad Dog 20/20 had been the only thing I could steal. Looking back I wonder if they made it so easy to steal as you couldn't even get the homeless to drink it. These kids today never knew what it would take to be a true seasoned alcoholic. Pickled by the worst gut rot intoxicants this spinning ball of dirt has to offer. These fucking pussies and their Zimas and Twisted Teas. Their wine coolers and light beers. I had lost my self for a moment as I came back she was talking of the television that would not turn on anymore.

I told her that except for a few late night searches for women selling exercise equipment in tight spandex so I could easier defile myself i seldomly turned the fucking thing on. A true romantic I was. It was my way of hinting that a deal was on the table. I told her that I really did need the thing but that I would be willing to entertain an offer. Not wanting to blatantly say what my deviant mind was thinking. True class. As if a moth to the flame she said she had no money and that her television had been purchased a few years ago when taxes came in. The poor man's saving account as I call it. As it was May that money was long gone. I changed the subject in order buy time in order to push more liquor on her before I would make my move. A man in my position in life needed to stack the deck from time to time.

I poured her another glass but only two fingers this time. If this did not work out I was going to need every drop I could get for myself. Always scheming. It had been a part of my nature for as long as I remember. Always looking out for numero uno. What a class act. Ha. She began to loosen her shoulders and relax. People had always opened up to me. I had always wondered what it was about me that brought that out in people. I couldn't trust myself so what would make other trust me with their deepest darkest secrets. Did they see something in me I had never seen in myself? Was there a shred of good in there? Confusion had always been the byproduct of my relationship with alcohol.

I had drifted again.

She was now speaking of the boys father. A busboy named Alejandro she had met at a greasy spoon she had worked at in her early 20's. He had romanced her with his Spanish accent and grandiose ideas of love and visions of a future.

I was drifting again and for the first time I looked closely at her face to take in her features. The crows feet had started around her eyes. Yet there was still innocence in them. For the first time I looked into them. they were a dark blueish gray. They told of a woman who had never known peace. She was a brunette with shoulder length hair. She had bangs that covered to the middle of her fore head. Trying to hide as much as she could? I wondered. The shape of her mouth had turned downward. It made sense as from what I had heard she had not much to smile about in this life.

Off again. As I came back she spoke of her dear Alejandros disbelief and outright dismay at the news of her pregnancy. It would seem as all those grandiose ideas he had implanted were nothing more than seeds used to plant his. She came into work the following week and was told he had not shown up for his shift. She would never see him again.

I used this opportunity to interject my own story of rejection. Laura. Poor sweet Laura.

I had met her at high point in my life. 34 years old and 2 years relatively sober. I had been working for a year as a forklift operator in a warehouse that shipped mostly refrigerated foods. I was in good shape and had a renewed vigor in my soul.

Sobriety looked good and it felt good. I had spent the previous 14 years bumming around the country working in various forms of construction staying in the seediest of motels. Carousing with loose women and outlaws. Drinking and taking in all the illicit substances I could get my hands on. It had been a good time but had taken its toll. At the age of 31 the tell tale signs were there that I could not keep up this life if I wanted to live past 35.

Laura. I met Laura at a Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.

She was 4 years younger than me. She didn't really have a problem with the sauce but was mandated to the group after a receiving a DUI one night returning from a night out with friends. The moment I first saw her I knew that I needed her. Have you every just looked at someone? Someone you have never met and felt something that you cannot explain. It's as if you have known them from time long ago. A feeling that supercedes that of pure physical attraction. I am talking that feeling of butterflies in your soul. A soul you weren't sure was still with you until that very moment.

I had lost myself in the sadistic hall of mirrors of a time long past. I skipped through the good years. They would get me nowhere closer to sealing the deal with sweet, naive Cassie. I didn't want to relive them anyway. Pain was my muse now. A cruel yet soothing mistress to my masochistic heart. I spoke of Laura as though it was her fault in abandoning me when he I needed her most. Not far from the truth but also not letting Cassie in on the true depths of the 180 I had pulled towards the end. Poor sweet Laura.

Cassie grabbed my hand. It had been a long time since I had felt the warmth of another. I was disgusted in myself for the way my mind worked. I put my other hand on top of hers. Caressing the back of her hand. I had had enough of this. Is this was what I was? Completely given to free will this is what I choose to do with this gift. What was this strange feeling? My conscience? I chuckled it been a while old friend. I looked at the clock. My one adornment on the walls. 11:11. I could not do this. I withdrew from Cassie and offered her my TV. She looked surprised and asked me what she could give me in return. I said your simple touch was enough.

I carried the television to her apartment set it on the stand and retreated hastily back to my mine. I sat back down and poured what remained of the rum in the glass filling it just shy of the brim. Her lipstick smudged on the side reminded me of what could have been. I drank it in one large gulp. Before the darkness took over I wondered what it was that had just happened. It had been many years since I had done anything for someone else without expecting something in return. I was fading from reality now. I awoke the next morning with no bathroom door.

End scene. I snapped back to my current existence. What if I were not all bad? Could that possibly be? I stared at my glass. Empty again. I poured the remnants of the bottle into the glass and stared at it. The grease stained glass was half empty. Fuck. I would be venturing into the world today again.

I retrieved my wallet from the nightstand. 32.00 dollars. a driver's license that was no longer valid. A debit card with my dwindling savings. And tucked away for safe keeping a note from Laura I had never read. What was the point? It would defeat what the letter already meant to me. The fuel for my rage. My muse of destruction. Almost there buddy.

I had managed to stretch the money from the divorce settlement into 3 years but I knew my time was coming. The end was near. My only hope is that the bottle would take me before the money ran out. I was to much of a coward to end it myself. Find what you love and let it kill you. Oh sweet Laura don't fail me now. Love is what I choose as my destructor. Or loss there of. It seems as though my hippocracy knew no bounds.

I sat back and sipped the remaining rum. Not to savor it but to prolong the inevitable return to the real world. The world of the living. Living. Well that was debatable. Cattle being herded to their jobs. Controlled by their corporate overlords. Bending their knee to the establishment while Uncle Sam rammed his red, white and blue cock down their throats. To think I lived like these sheep at one time. Believing in the American dream. George Carlin was right. It's called the American dream because you have to be asleep to believe it. Produce. Produce. Produce. If you don't produce what is your life worth? I will tell you what I will produce for ya. I will produce my hairy white ass for you all to kiss.

It is true what you call ill repute I have made a life of. I feel the judgement of a thousand men who have never truly lived.

Only decorated their fancy boxes and looked down from their modern plantations. I laughed.

For these gods among men really knew nothing. They never explored the depravity of their mind nay all they did was buy shiny things and judge. So what did i do?

I judged them. Not on their character but by the waste of their existence and I laughed. Laughed at their candor and surety of their moral superiority.

Laughed at their black and white existence and unwillingness to comprehend an idea that was not taught to them in their rearing years. I laughed.

Then I finished my rum. For I needed to add fuel to the hatred I had burning in my soul. For these, these, these robotic simulations had shaped my self worth.

I sat in pity. Not sat but wallowed like the fat drunk pig I had become. I laughed.

Now we are getting somewhere I thought.

It was surely quite a life.