Contact

blackhockeyjesus (at) gmail.com

Search
« Pssst, Lola. Are You Awake? | Main | The Phenomenology of Funnel Cake »
Wednesday
Nov052014

Do Not Be Fooled By Those 4 Walls

What I really want you to know is that I don’t understand how I am where I am. And, because I find the arrival to my life confusing, it’s really hard to make sense of the events of my life. Things keep happening and that’s enough. Let’s not allow meaning to harsh our presence. When I got to the detox, the guys were talking to a drunk man in the parking lot. The drunk man told us a few things that were wrong with the world and we didn’t disagree. Who were we to disagree? There’s a lot of things from various perspectives that are wrong with the world. Then he told us we could all get fucked and he hopes we fucking die, which was good timing because we had to get inside by 7.

Me and Kris and Wes and Zac were the guys they bring to the detox to tell the drug addicts that, if they stop using drugs, they will soon get money and girlfriends. Zac has a girlfriend in Germany. I knew Zac a couple years ago and I guarantee you that not one woman in Germany wanted to be his girlfriend back then. And Wes? Just 18 months ago, Wes came out of a blackout while helping a 52-year-old prostitute find a good enough vein to shoot dope in her neck. Have you ever come out of a blackout and just found yourself being alive and doing stuff? I can’t, in good conscience, recommend this to you but I recommend it anyway, at least once. It’s a good metaphor for every single morning. Wes is married now and has a daughter, only 2 weeks old. The prostitute, Candi, is dead. Now how’s that work? I don’t know either. But if you don’t pray, why not? Don’t you continue to appear where you are—over and over—for no rhyme or reason?

Are you paying attention? You need to understand this because, if you read this wrong, you’ll think I’m outlining some qualitative difference between us (me, Kris, Wes, and Zac) and them—the people in the detox wearing white gowns and orange socks. Or the drunk man in the parking lot. Or Candi. Or you. And I’m absolutely not; I’m telling you the exact opposite. I’m trying to tell you that I don’t understand how I am where I am or what a you is in relation to this. It’s like I woke up from a blackout and Zac said “Jon?” and I just started telling stories. “When I was 12, I got drunk for the first time and an angel whispered in my ear that Something good’s about to happen.” Some of the people in the white gowns and orange socks were sleeping or knocking my teeth out or losing the rigid sense of distinction between us; I saw my reflection in their eyes and we forgot for awhile about the frailty of names.

Kris told this story about being a little kid and going to the Grand Canyon. Looking over the edge and wrestling with that insatiable urge to just jump. You know, somewhere in your heart, that you won’t but, still, there’s that reckless part of you that’s always ready to jump, to take the next big step, to go where you’re going and I thought, yes, that’s where this, here, always is—the edge of the Grand Canyon. And, sure, some people are talking, some people are listening, some people are outside telling the whole world to get fucked, some are dead, and one of them is even doing what you’re doing, but we’re—all of us—on the edge and we all, in our own ways, want to jump.

Suspended between where we’ve been and where we’re going, our fates depend on the way the drink tips. Do you pray? Do you pray? Do you pray?