“Being a freelance explorer of spiritual dangers, the Artist gains a certain license to behave differently from other people; matching the singularity of his vocation, he may be decked out with a suitably eccentric lifestyle, or he may not. His job is inventing trophies of his experiences – objects and gestures that fascinate and enthrall, not merely (as prescribed by older notions of the Artist) edify or entertain. His principal means of fascinating is to advance one step further in the dialectic of outrage. He seeks to make his work repulsive, obscure, inaccessible; in short, to give what is, or seems to be, not wanted. But however fierce may be the outrages the Artist perpetrates upon his audience, his credentials and spiritual authority depend depend on the audience’s sense (whether something known or inferred) of the outrages he commits upon himself.” ~ Susan Sontag
It’s been my one constant companion for over a decade. Friends and lovers and family have come and gone, but alcohol has always endured – a comfort, an unbreakable contract, a covenant with a reliable savior.
It’s been with me for the most important events of my life – weddings of friends, graduation parties, birthdays, holidays, reunions, vacations, even funerals. One of my favorite family memories is of standing in the garage on the evening before a relative’s funeral, knocking back beers with my Uncle and talking with the men of the Ilagan family. It was the only way we could relate to each other sometimes.
It’s been the bearer and witness to some of my most heinous acts, my most embarrassing and deplorable behavior, and my cruelest blows – always without judgment, always without condemnation – forgiving me when forgiveness was the very last thing I deserved.
It is with me now, in the back of my mind, waiting to be released, to wash away the pain and sorrow, to end the doubt and worry, to drown the fiery demons of my heart – and it will not let me go.
In this bar, in this bar, I am dyingIn this bar, in this bar, I am dying
Disassociated, keep off the grassI prefer you naked, this too shall passNuance carefully weighted, too slow, too fastToo slow, too fast
I wanna go home, right nowI wanna go home, right nowI wanna go home, right nowI wanna go home
Kissing is forbidden, biting leaves marksSex is overrated, I need to danceCalmly understated, well, you always had classThis too shall, hide is amour-platedOblivious to darts, this too shall pass
I wanna go homeI wanna go home, right nowI wanna go home, right nowI wanna go home, right now
