Blood from stone

The obsession has made me a beast most monstrous. Take a chisel to my frightful form and carve a monument to the Collective Strength of spirit. There’s Beauty to be found in the seemingly impossible… True Grit and time can make the impossible a reality.

A Drop in the Desert

Near or far, the Beast beckons. His sirens cal luring me to a state of fool consciousness. Just a taste he says. Just a taste indeed. But I am a starving man and just a taste will never due. A traveler lost, and this oasis I seek is certainly not offered by that wolf adorned in all the regalia of the sheep. As Odysseus was tied to the mast, so must I be. For it is true what they say; this cat has lived all nine lives. So where does one go when walking on last legs? “With the wind at my back and feet on the road, no stopping till I get home”. Comforting words for the lost wanderer. But detours persist. As I said, beware the sirens call my friends, for she will end you. Crashed along the rocky coast line, gone the way of Odysseus. Walking in circles and spirals only to find yourself farther away.

Walking Home

“It seems that all my bridges have been burned, you say that’s exactly how this grace thing works. It’s not the long walk home that will change this heart, but the reception I receive with this restart” – Mumford and Sons.

My choices define all that I am…

My god how different the world looks through clear eyes. It is a fucking beautiful sight I have not seen in longer than I care to remember. The beast has been, for the moment, put in check. And what a bastard it is, though I cannot hold him responsible for choices made by yours truly. “For he knows not what he does” and I did know. I did. I can never forget that, it is a choice to be blind in the manner I speak of. Never forget that… it is a choice. Don’t allow it to be taken from you for then we have little left to offer, if anything at all.

Ode to an author. (Spirals 2)

“A man who makes a beast of himself loses the pain of being a man” – 1st words of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, by Mr. Hunter S. Thompson
Spiral up, spiral down. We all take the ride, but we don’t all buy the ticket. Shotguns are surely not the answer. But I suppose he had the right to do whatever he felt necessary. He went the way of Horatio Alger and did it with all the style of a madman who was not mad at all. God knows he had contributed to my life and that of many others. What exactly he contributed is harder to define than the simple knowledge of its existence. Let me try; entertainment is obvious, pure enjoyment of a tale well told, a deep respect for brutal honesty no matter what light it painted its author in. But it goes deeper than that. As a person who attempts to write (the success of which is arguable) it is not easy to put your entirety on paper. It is certainly intimidating to share all you are with anyone who cares to look. I have always attempted honesty in my words and looking back over my past posts, I believe I have accomplished that to a good degree. Yet, I strive to be completely comfortable with putting myself out there as I do. For if I am not, neither will be the reader.
I am grateful to all who take the time to read my words, especially the insane ramblings of a man who “makes a beast of himself”. And anyone who knows me knows I have a penchant for indulging the beast. I say this with no pride, simply the honesty I spoke of. Thank you Hunter, and thank you all.

The liquid lamentation

To lament on the nature of a liquid can be considered an odd thing. This goes without saying. But this particular liquid holds certain properties that make it unique, an all together different beast. Whether you refer to him as John Barleycorn, Mr. Daniels, or simply jack, he’s all the same man. A man I have come to know and love. A man I have come to know and hate. And it’s this, this back and forth which really supplies the irony to the situation. It’s in a mans nature to want what he can’t have, so when sober; all he can dream of his that cold beer hitting his lips. When finishing a night of mass consumption and finding oneself alone on the couch, drunk, and in darkness. It is in this moment you long for sobriety and a clear head. The grass is always greener my friends

Addiction; Nature Vs Nurture

It’s a combination of nature VS nurture. An old argument which misses the point entirely. It is an amalgamation of all things. No doubt I was poised to take the lead in an Irish play from birth, but I could have chosen (again, the argument… choice?) not to take the stage. Once the decision was made to act, the inevitable followed; I took the lead and acted my way (expertly) into a staring role in this, my theater. That’s how it feels sometimes, that my battle with booze etc.. was one I was inevitably going to face. No mater where I grew up, or who with, I think I would have been drawn to the highs and lows of substances, and the consequence that is substance abuse.