One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer

[plural]

most of my longer readers and many of my real life friends
[a few of whom even overlap]

are often surprised seeing me react in a particular situation

as a particularly astute reader of mine said recently
I am neither an idealist nor a cynic

although I have noticed recently
a strong trend towards preferring redheads
which is odd as for most of my life
I have never had a discernable type
when women were concerned

yet to most people I am an ever charming king
an affable yet roguish fellow
living in a perpetual state of casual pursuits

but for many years I have struggled with a darker side
that has taken me many years to come to grips with
[I think perhaps I have]

a particular friend a while back
mentioned that such and such had made me mean
however the truth is that I have always been mean
cruel even

but never wantonly

in younger days
I could not reconcile my capacity for cruelty and my comfort with it
with my own image of what constitutes a good man

in my few years
I have both taken lives and saved them
[both in the literal and figurative senses]

it was easy for me to castigate myself for one
and fail to balance my criticisms to account for the other

sure I was [and still am]
haunted by images of tattered ravaged flesh
rent asunder by hot shards of metal
and neatly perforated with cylinders of lead

waking up with dried crusted human blood
worn into the cracks of my hands

images of war and terror, the sounds of violence and strife
which seem to remain with me like an old friend fallen out of favor
you rather wish you could avoid them but there is so much history there
you cant just bring yourself to discard them entirely

our cheaply bought lives
our fragile humanity

when it comes down to it it wasn't the act of a taking a life that really bothered me
it was how little it bothered me and how easy it was to do so; which churned my stomach
I simply could not reconcile my ability and capacity to do evil
[even if in the service of good]
with my perception of what it means to be a good man
to me they were entirely incompatible

I recall long ago a quote sent to me
which for sometime gave me solace

"The monsters we are, so that monsters we do not become"

I was amazed how instantly I adapted to violence and strife
my brain in a sense seemed to be at its norm in its natural home

my youthful confusion that lost wandering sense
of a teenage boy unsure of his place in the world
all faded away

replaced by calm immediacy
I recall with clarity the first terrorist attack I experienced
much in a way like my first sexual experience
although without the latent fondness which the latter recalls

but in a way it was the same in the merest of moments
my entire world changed

a fraction of a second to change who I was and how I viewed myself forever

try if you might to imagine me as a virgin
a faithful orthodox Jewish boy

wipe that smirk off your face
at one time it wasn't nearly so preposterous

but with my first woman that all changed

I recall with no small significance her first soft moan as I penetrated her
and nearly immediately my entire perspective on the world around me changed

all of a sudden in that instant
I had slipped beneath the rose
and became indoctrinated in all the worlds secrets

that slight sigh, feeling her envelope me
the urgent rising of her hips to meet me as we were joined

even fumbling through it
as a nearly fourteen year old boy is want to do
I could tell the world would never be the same
like eve biting that apple
I could feel the knowledge of a whole new world
a whole new reality flowing through me

it was the same ten long years ago on that street in Jerusalem
when my evening with friends flirting with a lil hottie with round eyes and rounder breasts
was interrupted by automatic gunfire and panicked screams

in the time it took for me to blink the entire world had changed

my brain did not pause
it shifted from pursuing one goal to the next
as easily as exhaling

from trying to get in her pants
to analyzing the situation, identifying the threat and trying to survive

it didn't occur to me at the time
in fact it wasn't until someone pointed it out to me later
that I realized it had not occurred to me to be afraid
that isn't to say I wasn't not afraid
because I was terrified
but only later, safely at home, drinking straight from a bottle of vodka
to calm my nerves and steady my shaking hands

from that first moment of identifying the sound and seeing the shattering glass
the ricochets of bullets on stone walls, sparking in the night

to that last moment
doing CPR on a man who had been shot three times in the chest
using only the force of my will to keep him alive until the paramedics arrived

I never paused
never stopped thinking about what I must do
long enough to consider if I should be afraid

but after that moment
I was never again the same

while I had always admired ruthlessness
the ability to be cold and hard with those who deserved it
now I saw it was also necessary

it is amazing how all those shades of moral and ethical gray
fade away so quickly when someone is trying to kill you

I suppose in the end I always felt
I should have been philosophical about taking a life

perhaps had more regrets

but in the end
it was decidedly simple
entirely easy and it worried me greatly
as a portent of my own lack of humanity

but I have come to realize it is not that I have the ability
which demonstrates or exemplifies my humanity
but how I exercise that ability

it is not my innate ability to be cruel which makes me a bad man
rather it is my restraint of that ability that make me a good man
for we are all capable of evil

most people will never be forced to contemplate
let alone see just how capable of evil they are
it was that which troubled me for I was all to familiar with my capabilities

my hands know the force required to snap a mans neck
my ears the hiss of a mans last breath

these are things which become inherently part of you
not theory or ideas but knowledge stored
not in your mind but in your body
your senses

the stain of it
I suppose will remain with me always

but these days it seems
my tattered soul
has finally become comfortable

instead of a broken tool
or shattered vase
I wear it more like
a faithful worn pair of jeans

battered, tattered and stained
but its history
both good and bad
entirely mine

and I am ok with that

Comments

[azul.livejournal.com]

what a beautiful, raw posting. it's as if you are both a voyeur and a participator in your own life...it's really quite a gift of duality actually.

i think you protect yourself, veil yourself so that you control how much pain comes in and how much pain goes out. what is truly innate is the defense mechanisms we each have to cope and deal with the intensity that is life.

[thesheryl.livejournal.com]

"Old friend, you may kneel as you read this, for now I come to the sweet burden of my argument. I did not know what I had to tell you, but now I am sure. All my speeches were preface to this, all my exercises but a clearing of my throat. I confess I tortured you but only to draw your attention to this. I confess I betrayed you but only to tap your shoulder. In our kisses and sucks, this, ancient darling, I meant to whisper."
"God is alive. Magic is afoot. God is alive. Magic is afoot. God is afoot. Magic is alive. Alive is afoot. Magic never died. God never sickened. Many poor men lied. Many sick men lied. Magic never weakened. Magic never hid. Magic always ruled. God is afoot. God never died. God was ruler though his funeral lengthened. Though his mourners thickened. Magic never fled. Though his shrouds were hoisted the naked God did live. Though his words were twisted the naked Magic thrived. Though his death was published round and round the world the heart did not believe. Many hurt men wondered. Many struck men bled. Magic never faltered. Magic always led. Many stones were rolled but God would not lie down. Many wild men lied. Many fat men listened. Though they locked their coffers God was always served. Magic is afoot. Alive is afoot. Alive is in command. Many weak men hungered. Many strong men thrived. Though they boasted solitude God was at their side. Nor the dreamer in his cell, nor the captain on the hill. Magic is alive. Though his death was pardoned round and round the world the heart did not believe. Though laws were carved in marble they could not shelter men. Though alters built in parliaments they could not order men. Police arrested Magic and Magic went with them for Magic loves the hungry. But Magic would not tarry. It moves from arm to arm. It would not stay with them. Magic is afoot. It cannot come to harm. It rests in an empty palm. It spawns in an empty mind. But Magic is no instrument. Magic is the end. Many men drove Magic but Magic stayed behind. Many strong men lied. They only passed through Magic and came out the other side."

Leonard Cohen

[plural.livejournal.com]

indeed I do

when I was younger I protected myself from all emotion

but in my old age
*grin*

I have learned merely to adjust the flow
to what I can handle at any particular moment

and I agree
I have always been amazed with the human capacity to cope

when you look at people
you often find that the problems
which plague them
whether trivial or severe
in the greater scope of humanity
bear the same weight on their shoulders

however tragic and cruel life may be, it is a beacon of hope for me, that in the end there is truly nothing humanity cannot endure and overcome