They get punched in the face by enraged
strangers. They get smacked across the face by women; humiliated. They stumble
and fall and cause unexplained and sometimes debilitating injuries. Sometimes
they kill people by mistake. They lose teeth. And they continue. They are
forced to awkwardly ride bicycles in all weather; blow into tubes to make their
car work. They pay in every way imaginable; thousands of dollars. And they
continue. They hurt the ones they love, say things they don’t mean and get cast
from their homes and families; protective orders. Laughed at and teased; incarcerated.
And continue; and swear by the deteriorating organs in their body that drinking
booze is not to blame.

Many that I know have an amazing ability;
one which I can’t explain, yet sometimes envy. He called me one cold, wet and
damp winter afternoon, his victorious tone barely audible from the January wind
that whipped over his dollar store cell phone. He had stumbled upon utopia. God
had smiled upon him this day. I was glad for him. Another job prospect? A big
hit on a lucky scratch ticket? No. A trash strewn niche under a loading dock,
protected on three sides and away from the cold wind and prying eyes of the
public; where he could drink. Booze transforms a junk car into a luxury motor
home. A milk crate behind a dumpster becomes a recliner in a private suite. A
place to drink.

They are not losers or rejects. They are
friends and relatives; ones we love. They are intelligent, loving and hard
working people. Drunk, we are unable to be in their presence for even the
shortest moments. Loud, spittle sprayed nonsense. Swaying, as if sea bound on
another voyage to their own special island; where their word is prophecy and no
one dare to state otherwise. Often the intoxication triggers an ultra sensitive
defensiveness, hearing fighting words that are not fighting words. A casual comment,
a suggestion, joke or observation is an affront to their very integrity. What
would trigger a laugh or a friendly nudge from someone in a sober state effects
a glaring and swaying growl. “What’s that supposed to mean?” The powerful
influence allows their ears to uncover the vile insults and direct challenges
cleverly wrapped into the innocent folds of conversation. Prolonged stays in
the world of intoxication literally goes to their head. The hazy existence
becomes all too familiar and a door gets shut behind them. The dry world
becomes alien, scary and uninhabitable.

He got in my car, the morning sun lighting
up his pale and haggard features. I noticed a look of panic, bordering on
terror and a great discomfort of both mind and body. We idled in front of the
local store. I lent him two dollars and was thanked as though I saved him from
drowning. He is a good man with a pure heart and I despaired to witness him
re-embrace his insidious enemy. Following a loud snap and a quick hiss, he
pressed the can to his face. And gulped and gulped until a break was needed to
breathe… slowly a look of relief came over his face. His shoulders dropped. He
became talkative. He was OK now. He stepped back through the portal of normalcy
and familiarity. His foggy and safe world shielded him against the demons of
the real, sickening and scary. Sadly, this was the beginning of yet another
hellish period of loss, injury and sloppy humiliation. I asked why he would not
stop at one drink until he felt bad again. Then have one more; taper off;
control. I think I realized the absurdity of my suggestion before he did.
Stumbling back into his parallel universe he went. Nine days later he was in
the I.C.U. ward at the local hospital.

I
say none of my observations in judgment. I say them in fear. I try to hold
contempt on them because I so easily see myself in search of a small niche, out
of the wind and far away from the prying eyes of the public. A place to escape
the reality of life and live in a world that is painless and familiar. A place
where I am all knowing, with eyes and ears that uncover the deceit and scorn so
cleverly veiled. The keys to this world are under every doormat and on every
shelf of my world. There are a certain group of people that keep me from
reaching for these keys. I honor them and I pray for them. I hope so much they
would make the true and conscious decision to leave that world. Dump out all of
the fear and denial and jam that space and more with hope, because it is
everywhere if you look. I pray that they will be strong enough to do the hard
time that it takes to move back into the true world. And pray that they will
stay in it long enough to realize that although not always Emerald City, it is
where we all belong. It is truly the all seeing and all knowing world, it is home. I hope a fearless decision
is made. I hope to hear wonderful stories. Now I will go to visit the self
proclaimed drunk I talked about. He survived another close one. For almost one
year he has never walked back through the portal to drunk hell. His business is
flourishing and I enjoy hanging out with him because he is happy, healthy and
comfortable. I hope to get some work from him. Oh, ya, and that rich prick owes
me two bucks.

http://socialpolarities.com

http://meraj.hostedgalleries.me/10-hilarious-images-caught-on-google-street-view