Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: All Things Sober Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Thursday 11/24/2005 09:31:00 AM

The gentle hum of all things sober is always present in every drink. We just don't listen or don't want to hear it.

Last night it was around 1:30am and I was only 1/4 of the way through beer number three and I actually considered going to sleep without having another. In my head I wanted more, but my body was feeling like I'd already had five.

It was strange. I was dumbfounded by the fact that my body wanted less than my mind did. I actually sat there for a few moments staring at bottle number three, nearly full, and marvelled at the notion that I already felt so wasted.

Habits. Addictions. Whatever you want to phrase them, are so much more in your head than in your body. At least mine have always been. My physical self was being all kinds of easygoing, offering me the chance to go to bed after only three. I haven't done that since I don't remember. But my psychological self is just too stubborn. Too damn interested in destruction over preservation.

I guess that's an obvious truth. If it wasn't I wouldn't have this habit to begin with.

The gentle hum of all things sober is always present in every drink. We just don't listen or don't want to hear it. Because letting go is easy, but it's so hard starting over.

1 comments:
Anonymous said...

Brick: Somethin' hasn't happened yet.

Big Daddy: What's that?

Brick: A click in my head.

Big Daddy: Did you say, 'click'?

Brick: Yes sir, the click in my head that makes me feel peaceful.

Big Daddy: Boy, sometimes you worry me.

Brick: It's like a switch, clickin' off in my head. Turns the hot light off and the cool one on and all of a sudden, there's peace.

. . .

Brick: Now I'm waitin' for that click and I don't get it. Listen, I'm all alone. I'm talkin' to no one where there's absolute quiet.

Big Daddy: You'll hear plenty of that in the grave soon enough. But right now, we're gonna sit down and talk this over.

Brick: This talk is like all the others. It gets nowhere, nowhere, and it's painful.

. . .

Big Daddy: Boy, do you want liquor that bad?

Brick: Yes, sir. I want liquor that bad.

Big Daddy: Now tell me, what are you disgusted with?

Brick: Mendacity. You know what that is. It's lies and liars.




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