“Here’s to Vomit”

I tried to sleep and woke up to the toilet.

Bile. Bright yellow.

Snot. The floating pieces of grey

That’s a night terror. A nightmare in motion. Just the even event of horror without gore and emotion with sickness.

This for me is relapse.

Alcoholism with life infused. The trying of life triumphant. Overcoming the worst. Being bettter.

How does one become better?!?!

Admission. In the immortal words of Hunter S Thompson: Buy the ticket, take the ride.

See how you’ve been burdened. Seee the pain you cover. See how you can uncover yourself & see how you can build better.

He is my hero. He wrote Gatsby. Made mememory. Rewrote and educated himself.

Then his own beauty broke loose without question.

I became an alcoholic when I found HST.

I saw the flux and flow of his prose with the ease of drunken solidarity. No judgement. No off set eyes. I’m sure it was I’m classmates who saw me or just loved my lack of normality.

The first time I submitted to the writing column at Varina.

For me it was just a blister in the digits of a guy who knew how to use a typewriter.

My German language classmate encouraged me to keep going. “Make those pretty words...”.

I’ve never understood what happened. I don’t think I ever will. I don’t see what’s up.

One day I hope someone can explain.

I have zero faith that the world will.