My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

So, last night was my third open mic night. I’m becoming a fixture, a regular. I think I’m getting to be the resident liquor, drugs, death, sex, melancholy romance writer. They technically call it “open mic for musicians and poets,” but I mostly write flash fiction, not really pure poetry. I definitely don’t think of myself as a poet, I’m just a writer. Fortunately, they don’t seem to hold people to that poet tag. I read two pieces voiced by my now regular voice, Jimmy.

She’s like opium

Of course it’s not

Of course it’s not started out as a short story that I ended up not wanting to tell. All I really wanted to do was talk about some reasons one might have to get lost in a vice, and how ultimately pointless it is to put your hope into something hopeless. So, I cut out the awful story and re-wrote it in the second person as flash fiction. Honestly, it’s just me trying to put into words why I’ve been known to drink myself toward nothing. I wanted to try to explain it to someone.

Now some pictures…

Jimmy and I discussing Christian hypocrisy, while I'm wearing a fuckin' awesome hoody.

Jimmy reading my writing.

So, a reader recently commented on a post I wrote awhile back, Everything burns. It wasn’t a religious post at all, just sort of a look at how life is so temporary and why right now is so important. I wrote about how knowing that life could end at any second is a source of motivation, and depression, and sometimes impulsive choices for me. It’s sort of a liquor, depression, romance, live life right now because it’s going to stop one way or another, post.

Well, this reader replied…

i’m a little upset that nobody has anything to offer you but “your writing is wonderful”, writing is wonderful, it’s a gift and i’m glad you use it to express how you feel in a culture thats so difficult to understand the depth of another persons thoughts and emotions. Were so tied up into alternate reality through media and situations where its hard to ever find someone who really understands.

anyways. I have a lot of friends like you, even though you don’t know me. It’s funny how you can feel like you know someone through what they write down. You are right everyone burns, it’s an instinct we all have when we are bound by our… well for lack of explaination, depression, or our insecurity, our meaninglessness, ect.

There is truth in your words but you lack understanding, understanding which (since it’s so hard to find) will only be obtainable to most by pursuit of it. Your depression is the same depression as everyone elses depression, it’s a separate entity if you will.

This entity is none less then one from the story in the garden of eden. When satan the angel rebelled with other angels in pursuit of being god. Because of this god cast him out of heaven. Satan was in the garden of eden and tempted eve because he hated man, man was created in gods image. He hated us then and hates us now, and his goal is to deceive everyone of us. Because he has eternity of burning waiting for him and he will drag everyone he can down because of his hatred towards us. Satan and his angels (or demons) are the forces that tell us to do wrong and tell us that we have no hope. بينجو اون لاين They are things like depression, and suicide, insecurity, homosexuality, sexual immorality, ect.

Even though you have done wrong and you have listened to those things, you can still have life. Take a step towards understanding, grab a bible, read it start with proverbs and John in the NT. Understand that this is why Jesus died, so you may live. Repent and stop indulging in the things that are draining your lifes blood and taking you to hell. Understand im telling you this because Ive been in your situation.

I was like you, until I had someone in my life forgive me for what I had done to them, he had told me about god and about jesus dying to take those things that bound me so I may live and be free. I was struck by this and pursued trying to understand christianity until I found it. I hate to see people depressed without anyone to be that person for them. You dont have to burn forever, Jesus died so you may live.

So. I guess I’m a good writer, but I’m definitely going to Hell if I don’t “pick up a bible” and find Jesus. It’s nothing I haven’t already thought about, I’m Catholic enough to know about Hell, and what it takes to end up there, and that I’ve done several Hell-worthy offensives. I’ve committed at least three of the Seven Deadly Sins, and I don’t at all feel guilty about at least one of them. I don’t feel bad about most of the “Hell-worthy” things I’ve done, and am going to do. That means that if there is really a Hell, I’m definitely going.

I’m tired of “Christians” judging people, and hating people in the name of Jesus. People seem to forget that Jesus was a radical, and that He was down with the outcasts, people society considered disgusting. Jesus taught love, not judgment, not hate. His teachings were not at all popular with the religious elite of the time, and that’s what bought Him a really fucked up death. People who judge, and condemn, and hate in His name are hypocrites. مراهنات رياضية I imagine Jesus would call such people out as hypocrites, if He ever ends up paying us another visit. مواقع ربح المال If every Christian actually practiced what Jesus preached, we wouldn’t have such an immense homeless problem, we wouldn’t have countless hate crimes committed every-day, life would be better.

I’m not a religious person, I think organized religion is ultimately just a way for a few people to control many people. The Bible is just a book written by men, men with flaws and agendas. It’s not some perfect guidebook to human existence. Too often, people use the Bible as weapon against other people, which definitely isn’t Christian. Organized religion has never made me feel welcomed.

I try to be kind to people, I try not to hurt anyone. I try to love unconditionally, I try to be empathetic. I don’t do any of this perfectly, but I try. I try to be a good person. I write a lot about liquor, and drugs, and depression, and sex, I write it all from experience. I regret some things, I absolutely don’t regret others. I believe in God and Jesus, in my own way. I could be entirely wrong about everything, or not. I don’t know. If I’m wrong about everything, I guess I’m going to Hell. I’ll see what happens, when it happens.

You’re sitting in this bar, this sad, smokey place where fuck ups go to forget that they’re fuck ups, at least for a few hours. You’re sitting at the bar proper, front and center. The lights above you are blue, making all the the liquor bottles shelved in front of you look soft and peaceful. You wonder if you look soft and peaceful, you doubt it.

You order another vodka shot, slam it back. It burns going down, it warms your face. You feel a little numb, you like the numb. Numb, the off-brand version of contentment. Numb, of course, leads to drunk, the off-brand version of happy. This shot makes seven dead shots, lined across the bar. Seven not so deadly sins.

There are maybe ten people in the whole place. It’s 1 AM on a Monday, odds are nobody has a job to go to in the morning. People are mostly sitting in the booths behind you, forest green leather, brown wood. There’s a candle on every table, neon signs on the walls, picking up the slack for the candles, telling people what poison to drink. A couple in the corner next to the door is making out like there’s no tomorrow. They’re all heat, and close, and immediacy. She’s got the guy up against the wall, holding his arms back, shoving him hard against the wall, her shoulder-length brown hair thrashing this way and that. She’s fucking the guy without actually fucking him. It’s kind of surreal, maybe they know something you don’t know. Maybe tomorrow isn’t coming, you just didn’t get the memo, or the e-mail, or the flyer. Or maybe you’re just lonely and somber-like. You wonder if you’ll ever feel anything like that again, that sort of intensity with another person.

You had this idea of what your life would be like by right now, and this sure as shit wasn’t it. Sitting here, alone in a crowd, getting shit-faced, this was not the plan. Getting shit-facd as often as you do was not part of the plan. Drunk is just so much easier anymore. Alcohol kills feelings, which is the idea, because everything you feel is dark, empty, lonely. You’ll sleep alone tonight, and you know it. Tonight, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, for you don’t know how long. No one will hold you close, no one will kiss you slow.

Drunk as you are, so drunk you can hardly feel your face, in that place between drunk and oblivion, you still feel time flying through you. You always feel it. Time is like this surprise amount of cash in your wallet. You can’t know how much you have to spend, you just know when it runs out. The wallet goes empty, and that’s it. This terrifies you.

You’re afraid you’re going to end so far away from everything you ever wanted. You’re afraid that the time you spend getting where you want to go is wasted time. You’re afraid that everywhere you go will keep feeling empty, empty even when you get to the last place. You drown yourself in liquor hoping to make time leave you be awhile, to make you forget your wants that feel so far away, but it never works. Not really.

You should get up, go for the door. You should breathe in the cool night air, get so far away from fixes that don’t fix. You order another shot, maybe this one is the one that will make it better, but it’s not. Of course it’s not.