on vices

we all have vices
or
most of us do

some of you smoke
cigarettes
marijuana
and other things
[hopefully not crack]

Some of you drink

Some of you chase love and/or sex

whatever the vice
each person finds their pleasures
in the shadows of their heart

my vice is not
cigarettes though i smoke them
nor is it drink
even should my liver be soon pickled
nor for all the time
and
energy i devote to them
is my vice women

no drug
substance or emotion
contains my vice
though my vice
contains and produces
them all

so what is it
my loves

this vice which i cherish
as i spiral in its embrace
to my certain destruction

destruction you say,
why destruction

that is the nature of vice

vice is a pleasure
bought and paid for
with your eventual destruction

but i have led you on
long enough
i will tease no further

for my vice
is that which surrounds you
some of you more than others

my vice is civilization

the clink of a glass
laced with amber liquid
distilled apathy and passion
in each drop

the absent back
of a sleek black dress

all those aspects of culture
of humanity
which reach for perfection
or
in disemboweled apathy
reject it entirely
and embrace their cursed existence

the perfect meal
the perfect wine
the perfect drug
the perfect woman
the perfect disgrace

the stimulation of all senses

i love beauty
foremost among things
and
civilization
provides it in spades

both in its shining hour
and
its moments of despair

for my vice provides me
objects of beauty
whether wrapped in sparkling tissue
or
blood stained morality

lessons which allow me
to reflect
reflect upon
the differences
between man and nature
savior and betrayer
life and death

you see
i
am not addicted
to the material aspects
although my addiction
is manifested in them

i don't want
an expensive bottle of wine
because it is expensive
i want
the perfect wine
because it is
divine

the expensive liquor
has purity
where the cheap
does not

someone decided
often ages ago
that they were going to make
the
best bourbon
wine
champagne

where as
others in this modern day
struggle and focus
on
making it just good enough

i have no purity
so i seek it
relentlessly

i have no beauty
in my spirit
only wounds
and
deception

i desire purity
for it has what i lack
but in my sickness
i can only gain pleasure
from perverting that purity
by
taking it
savoring it

that which is pure
i seek to debase
to obtain
if only for a moment
its purity
becomes mine

that which is
tainted i seek to elevate
to redeem
to purify
for in that moment
treating the whore
as
delicately as
the virgin

vicariously
i
too
regain purity

a journey

here is sit
now in Santiago
once more

sipping bourbon
decent stuff
which took some effort
to obtain

its is eight years old
and compared to my usual
it is sufficient
but unsatisfying

it is often said that
people choose their drink
as they choose their loves
if that is so
then it says
very peculiar
and most likely
unflattering things
about me

in theory
i prefer my drink
as
old and mature
as i can find it

in practice
those which i consume
have only the maturity and
distinction of
far fewer years

i prefer
another analogy

one chooses ones
drink
like one chooses ones sin

a cheap liquor
is like a petty theft
or an easy seduction

simple
easy to enjoy
to recognize the immediate
personal gain

a well aged liquor
is far more complex
requires a sacrifice of self
a commitment
an effort to appreciate
its splendor
its character

to a rube
vested in nothing
a cheap drink holds far more
satisfaction
for he seeks only the pleasure
of intoxication
and places little value
on the process of getting there
alcohol is door
a way out
a way to escape

same is true of
the petty thief
and the sleazy seducer

both have only their eyes
upon the prize
the method and process
are irrelevant

in life
the destination is fixed
anticlimactic even

whether we be
rich or poor
famous or mired in the depths of obscurity
death comes to us all

in the end
neither our friends
our loved ones
or our treasures can accompany us

our enemies can not make it worse
all the power in the world
cannot make it better

death remains

that leaves the question
if the end is determined
unchanging
what is the point?

to the person fixated
on the result
the answer is rather frightening
this is why
we humans have invented god
in our own image
created a heaven and hell
that we may live forever
and
have a result to pursue

each following their own
predilections

neither heaven nor hell
tempt me with their
lures and promises
for to me
each is a hell
with only flavors
differentiating them

who cares whether the chocolate
is
milk
or
dark
when one despises chocolate

and i do

in their complicity
i despise both
lord and savior
devil and betrayer

that one sits upon
a golden throne
and the other
upon brimstone
makes little difference
to my seething disgust

and for me?
what is the point
for one such as i

should i value
the process above all else
knowing that
the end result
is fixed
immutable
and
repugnant

some cynical
twisted and sardonic part of me
says
yes

it looks in the mirror
and says
you already do

look at yourself
no
set aside those
pretty illusions
petty delusions
and see thy self

you value the process
already above the result

eating a fine meal is delightful
but cooking an exquisite one
is pure bliss

the orgasm is powerful
but satisfaction comes from
the act
the sequence of touch
sensation
sensual desire
restraint
diving into the depths
of another
melding their flesh
with my own
teasing
touching
fucking

the orgasm
is not the play
nor the plot
or even the goal
but
simply that bell
which summons the lights
to shine over intermission

a signal that
coffee and cake
await
a cigarette
and perhaps
a drink

blissful rest
in anothers arms
till the next act
arises and
the cycle begins anew

the process

the process

for me
i must adore the process
for the result
of life
i despise

it was once said to me
"it is not death i fear
that comes to us all
it is the dying part
i am terrified of"

death comes to us all
wraps us in her velvet arms
and
in that singular instant
whisks us all away

so i must reflect
life is about the process
the journey
not about getting there

"the problem with
living life in the fast lane,
is that you reach the destination,
far to quickly"

now come sinners
one and all
let me adore you

i wish i could say
i came upon these thoughts
perhaps one could even say revelations
in
an enlightened moment
a moment of inspiration
to seek out a better way of living
a better life

ah would it be so
but to me
what is this quintessence of dust?

these thoughts
come
shrouded in darkness
in despair
and shatter
what poor remnants remain
of my
black revenant heart