The bounds of human decency
Posted on Wed Oct 03 12:15:00 UTC 2007
Awaking to the unrepentant sunshine, a vicious, savage, big black bruise of a hangover, an hour late to work and then the shattered fragments of last nights emotional violence staring me in the face like a mirror full of busted teeth. Surveying the damage it looks like I can never return to Christchurch.
Ever.
Normally at this juncture I would perform my usual punch and judy show of repentance, say how very sorry, how really truly sorry I am, make all kinds of rash and ultimately meaningless promises to change and have a good cry and a sniffle. There's a certain special morning-after mix of guilt, nausea and general wretchedness that rolls over in the bed to greet you with a sour bee sting kiss, unexpected yet strangely familiar, like sleeping with a close relative. I say “normally” but we've been through this tired old routine before so I'll just let you imagine I'm saying all the right things and that I, in all sincerity, actually mean them.
Sick as a goddamn dog and with a great deal less self-respect, hell's aqueduct , an artesian well for demonic forces. In the gnostic texts the demilurge who created the world was evil, soul poison, a false and deceptive ruler of a false and deceptive heaven. I am poisoned and poisoner. This ground is tainted and nothing good can grow here.
- - -
In retrospect two double and two triple shots of bourbon back to back may have been a bad idea. Want to throw up.
Ever.
Normally at this juncture I would perform my usual punch and judy show of repentance, say how very sorry, how really truly sorry I am, make all kinds of rash and ultimately meaningless promises to change and have a good cry and a sniffle. There's a certain special morning-after mix of guilt, nausea and general wretchedness that rolls over in the bed to greet you with a sour bee sting kiss, unexpected yet strangely familiar, like sleeping with a close relative. I say “normally” but we've been through this tired old routine before so I'll just let you imagine I'm saying all the right things and that I, in all sincerity, actually mean them.
Sick as a goddamn dog and with a great deal less self-respect, hell's aqueduct , an artesian well for demonic forces. In the gnostic texts the demilurge who created the world was evil, soul poison, a false and deceptive ruler of a false and deceptive heaven. I am poisoned and poisoner. This ground is tainted and nothing good can grow here.
- - -
In retrospect two double and two triple shots of bourbon back to back may have been a bad idea. Want to throw up.