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INFINITE ONION 8.1 This documents the passing of demons through our house and how we watched it doing virtually nothing about it. The demons where (are?) a part of our friend. I hadn't known him any different though. The demons used to seem like a funny part of his character to me , until they came into our house and wouldn't leave. They made him so pitiful, I couldn't pity him. You look so scared, when I look closely to try to see through the haze, the fuzz that envelopes your spirit and intellect. The lost dazed scared look in your eyes that acknowledges you've lost your grasp. "Why get up , what's there to get up for ? There ain't nothin' goin on." "YO! Get up ! Get the fuck up! We want to use the couch , get to bed! " "Huh, waa.." Dumb motherfucker never makes sense when he talks. Our house is trashed. I want to blame all my problems on him. You look so pitiful, pass out at noon, wake up only to hit the liquor store , lying on the couch, the bed , the floor, half open eyes rolled upwards as if looking at the inside of your eyebrows, sweating, incoherent, convulsing on Matt's bed. I want to fucking hate you, shake you out of your stupor, your intoxication. Reality doesn't exist for you. I want to scream at you and fuck you up. I want to beat this out of you. You mirror the weakness I hate about humanity. You're what I hate... ...about myself "Hey, heeeey, Daaaaaave" "What, did someone call me?" "Yeah , it was me. I'm having DTs, could you run and get me a big gulp, here's some cash." He doesn't look like he could walk to the front porch, I'll do it I need to go near there anyway. "Yeah, I can go on my way to the post office" MOTHERFUCKER! Do you fucking hate yourself? I want to take that bottle and bash your face in, your so fucking weak, I despise you. "What's there to get up for ?" Does it take a drunk to make me ask myself that question ? I can tell myself that just about everything is desolate , full of negativity and that my life is shit, but when I think about why I'm not living in a similar state of incoherency, I realize how much I've got. I feel life , and I want to really face it. Fight with all my anger when the need arises and love when things are going better. Sure I have problems, we all do , but murdering the part of myself where they're manifested isn't how I want to solve them. Fuck no. So what is there to get for ? Well, hmmm. .... . .. .. the sun. . ., riding my bike to the store, my friends, the fact that I have energy and knowing how I want to use it , seeing the mountains from my back porch, the fact that even though our world is fucked up in so many ways there are still things in it that are fulfilling and positive, tofu scrambler, Australian Stout, music, books, meeting people I feel instantly connected with, learning to know people, growing, creating, learning. . How much drunk escapism does it take to forget this? How far would I have to go to not give a shit about the things that give me a push to get up in the morning? Alot? A long way? An old friend comes over angry as fuck. "You fuckin did it! Customers and the whole fucking place saw you!" "I didn't do it! I swear to god I didn't do it!" $3 stolen "You're a motherfucking alcoholic! You have no life, don't even come over again. If you want your shit back you'll have to fight me." "What ? " "Fuck you!" "I've never been in a fight in my life. What the hell." BETRAYAL RAGE His dad comes over and gives him cash. Twenty minutes later he's passed out cradling a half empty bottle. Obviously his dad cares enough for him to at least help him out but is he that oblivious to reality? Money kills him. His dad is buying him a coffin. He has no drive to do shit when his dad supplies him with all his material needs , there's no point in getting out of bed unless its to spend his dad's money at the liquor store. Dad is pouring his demise down his throat. Dad's love is killing him. Can you see him lying here? Do you realize that the reason he's looking right through you when he mumbles half nonsense is you? Don't give him any fucking money! He won't starve. He'll be more alive if anything. I was going to tell his dad this next time he came over but it just never happened. I used to laugh at the alcoholic jokes, half identifying with them as I drank a lot even though I wasn't an alcoholic as such, but now they just sort of make me sick. "Alcoholics unanymous", "get drunk stay punk", even the phony ghetto romanticism of pounding 40's; give me a godamn break. There's nothing less funny than seeing what a pathetic mess an otherwise cool person can become. There's nothing funny about watching people numb themselves every night, watching how strong of a grip alcohol can have on people's bodies and minds. Have you ever watched a heroin junkie or alcoholic with physical dependency try to kick? The mental, physical, spiritual and emotional hell. Weeping and gnashing of teeth. torment. It's really not joke material. If you can laugh at that as all of us have at the house, you're either ignorant or you're escaping the reality of it by laughing at it. I refuse to torment myself with trying to rattle life into someone who's become afraid of it. Alcoholism is a pathetic, frustrating and de structive thing. ha ha I'm by no means straight edge and am not bothered by drinking or getting drunk for that matter. But watching someone try to undo what he did to himself through alcohol as a medium makes me despise liquor. Every second of lifting his floppy sweaty body on to my back to draggin him across to the other room and flopping him down, limp like a fresh corpse I'm full of rage. I hate vodka and want to break the bottle over his fucking skull. He brushes the curtain to one side with his hand and peers into the living room. I can tell he's more together than usual. He sees me and struggles with the curtain for a second before coming in. I'm sitting on the couch with a notebook trying to exorcise the demons he created in me. My feelings are somewhere between "how can we get this drunk fuck out of here conveniently" and hope. He's frazzled looking but coping allright it seems. I pretty much ignore his presence and keep writing down how I feel about him. I doubt he knows what I'm writing about and I'm hoping he doesn't come over and enquire. I know he won't, so I continue. He stops near the phone as if contemplating how to work it , or if its even worth using. No longer interested , he walks towards the door and looks outside. The sun is bright and its warm. I can't help but notice how pale he is. He hasn't been in the sun for a while. He looks like Gollum with long hair. "I've got to stop drinking." I knew he was aware of that , but to actually say it seemed like a big step. Not that him coming out and saying it is going to change his condition, but it's a step closer towards life. It was as if he was announcing his next step. I agreed. "The most fucked up thing is why is alcohol legal? I've done everything from heroin to mass speed and it's the legal drugs that fuck with your body the most. I stopped heroin cold turkey and I was fine. It's alcohol that's the worst." He started to form another sentence in his head, but sort of drifted off, not because he was drunk , more because he was struggling with his own thoughts. I really wanted to respond , be supportive, positive, say something to push him farther in that direction, but I just couldn't bring myself to say anything warm. I wanted to , but after all this time of getting pissed at his condition and him I couldn't soften up and say anything cool. He walked back towards the curtain but didn't go in, just hung there for a second fretting and turned around again. "I'm gonna check myself into rehab" "You are?", I responded as warmly as I could which was still pretty gruff and cold. Inside I felt like hugging him. This was his first real attempt at helping himself on his own feet. He called Detox audibly struggling as he told them he started drinking again and wanted a number to get in touch with a rehab place. They referred him to Salvation Army and within twenty minutes he had gathered most of his shit together and was on the front porch waiting for his dad. When his dad came we said goodbye. I was really stumped for words when he left. It wasn't as if I would miss him really or that we were really close. How close can you get to someone like him? But I did care for him , it hurt me to see him fuck himself up like he was doing and he probably realized that. Actually I'm sure he did, I could tell by how he approached me and talked to me and what he said to me when he did talk. Words exchanged between us were simple but real. He drove off in his dad's car and took his demons with him. Strength Spirituality Knowledge Heart Mind Body Soul Power Peace Change Growth Earth Conciousness Revolution Infinite Onion 8.1 communicate : PO Box 263, Colorado Springs, CO 80901-0263 usa ; email: 72212.121@compuserve.com