Dipsomania

Dipsomania

I pulled the weapon from it's sleeve and gripped it tightly. White knuckle firm control, but my aim was distracted by fear. I could miss, but I knew what I had to. Plus I was driven, driven by thirst to strong to control, almost primitive. I grabbed with my left hand to secure the objective and I stabbed with my right, missing my mark. My fear turned to concern as I watched the crimson liquid drip from the wound I had just created. I had to strike again, since this puncture failed my intentions. The second attempt proved unsuccessful adding another perforation to the target and thus releasing more vital fluid. The final assault confirmed my victory, nailing my plan and purpose. Bull's eye. Relief washed over me, and as I stood there drinking I thought to myself, I could never stab anyone cause I'm so bad with a Capri Sun.

Big Wheel

Big Wheel

Almost every man can tell you a story, from their childhood, that involves a Big Wheel. The Big Wheel marked a very important era for most boys. For me, the Big Wheel was the only time in my life where i felt totally out of control, yet subconsciously i knew i would never be more stable. Such an ingenious piece of equipment, when you really think about it. Anchored by the weight of your own body, this tripod with wheels had the most secure foundation that physics offers. The drive wheel, from which it was named, had a gear ratio of 1:1 and an unlimited slip differential to control acceleration. You learned quickly to apply just the right amount of torque. As you knew nothing about horsepower, boy power was the mainstay of your unbridled speed. White knuckles gripped the molded plastic handles, free to ride where you may. And when and if you wanted to stop, the manufacturer stratigically placed single turning brakes on each one of the back wheels. Power slides had never been so inevitably fun. The sound of grinding plastic continuously echoed in your ear. And at the end of the day, when your tank was on E, you slowly yet reluctantly parked your ride. And as you stood up, and began to walk away, you still knew you were totally out of control, yet subconsciously stable.

Random Acts of Silence

Random Acts of Silence

You know that moment that you let your mouth write a check that your ass can't cash. You know that short breath pause where you might as well announced your thoughts through a megaphone. You know that instant you let raw feelings flow verbally instead of a calculated discussion. You know that split second instinct gathering the words for expulsion rather than taking time to analyze and interpret. You know that occasion your mating call for negativity replaces a positively reinforced voice. You know that Freudian truth slips in spite of your Pavlovian modeling. You know that screaming cry of death metal that overpowers your serene classical melody. But then again, suppressing your emotional voice would only result in random acts of silence. Shhh...