Just A Quick Note to Michael Glatze...
July 06, 2007

Mike, look, as far as I'm concerned, you are perfectly entitled to spend your days watching porn, screwing any boy that moves, and pounding the latest mind-mincing chemical into your veins, heart and brain. Suicide is suicide, whether you do it all at once or one dime-bag at a time.

I've also got no problem with the realization you had, long about 3AM, not that many nights ago, while vomiting into a porcelain portal, your ass slick with used lube, Fred's Four Fisting Family O' Fun casting shadows upon the passed-out bodies of the deep friends you met for the first time at Rage about 45 minutes ago, and with whom you then invited back to your place because they too loved the cinematograpy in Fred's orgy scene and were more than up for helping you reenact it, even at this late hour, that your life wasn't exactly turning out as planned. Greater insights than yours have come from lesser events --like, say, the Holocaust.

I'm not even going to knock you for thinking that your Magic Super Friend Sam took time from His busy day of running the Universe, giving pet ponies to His supplicants, and torturing Heathens, to wave His majestic wand your way and, poof!, you were no longer a Poof. Usually, I'd chock that up to fallout from the mind-mincing dime bags, but today I'm feeling nice.

However, to hop up on a box and bleat to the world that your life is all the better now because you wet your willy with a woman is just textbook hubris. It's also asinine. The problems with how you lived your life -- the exceedingly poor choices you made, your own inability to live for anyone other than yourself -- were yours and yours alone.

Oh, and despite what you may think, they weren't that novel. Lots of people have made similarly bad choices, never the mind who they sleep with. I counseled more of them than I would have liked. That was my choice though. I'm not complaining. Much.

Until you deal with you, with your particular excuses for messing up your life, your problems won't go away, no matter what defense, or person, you mount. They'll just sneak back up on you, quietly, unhindered, until, once again, it's 3AM and you have a brand new assortment of house guests asleep in the other room.

Mike, the root of your problem isn't your lusts or or your loves. It's you.

Posted by Jody at July 6, 2007 12:14 PM

Trackback Pings

TrackBack URL for this entry:
http://WWW.nakedwriting.COM/mt-tb.cgi/2222

Comments

Posted by: Jarred at July 6, 2007 02:10 PM

Posted by: brynawel at July 6, 2007 04:06 PM

Post a comment