Fool's Paradise

"The fool who persists in his folly will become wise."

-William Blake

I was nearly home, about sixty miles or so, the opened twelve pack was sitting in the passenger side seat, but it was no longer a twelve pack. It had probably about nine or ten left. I picked it up a good safe distance because by the time I would've reached my planned destination, it would be too late to buy beer, and I've always been a simple kind of guy, I like the joy it brings, and I don't think midnight during the work week is a good time to start a glue sniffing habit.

The radio was up, with some pill addled sicko with a raspy voice and a unique handle on life was complaining about the same old shit. My driver side window doesn't work properly, it scratched the ultimate hell out of the glass, so I don't use it. So when I have to resort to flinging my beer cans out the window, I have to slow down from passing all of the other traffic on the road, merge in to the quiet lane, roll down the passenger side window with my car's cockpit fancies, numerous buttons I rarely touch, and then with a simple gesture, my hair is whipping in my face, seventy five miles an hour, just so I can throw an empty can out for decoration on this stretch of this once beautiful American landscape.

As a born and raised grand country boy, I too, am against the wretched machine heads that spew their wealth like trash across the country side with visions of grand accomplishment, but as far as taking your trash to the dump is concerned, I don't mind. Nor do I mind throwing trash on trash. As far as my beer cans being littered and riddled up and down the east coast major highways, I consider it marking my territory.

I decided eventually because I am breaking the man's laws, then hell, I should probably break only one at a time, So, I slowed down.

Yes, I was swerving every fifteen minutes or so, but I was using blinkers, I found my behavior completely acceptable. I had gum. One working window. The trick is, if you are drinking and driving and you fear being nabbed, one open window does wonders for the aroma in your car, and especially being an ex tobacco junkie, in my pockets and in every crevice in my dear old car, one can find gum and mints. Life has it's limits, but then again, it doesn't.

"No, Officer, I haven't been drinking and driving.

Why is there an open twelve pack and no cans?

Well, Sir, I quote my great grandfather in saying, 'Stand in the road and be a friend to man.' I gave a homeless wino outside the gas station from which I purchased these beverages who asked me for my change or a beer. I have no change, and frankly, well, I know what it's like to want and need a beer, so he received quite a few. I'm not a lecturer, I'm a man flawed just as much as he, so he, lucked out, Officer, Sir.

No, Sir, I realize I shouldn't encourage that behavior. No, I'm afraid I don't remember what he looked like, he was white, about my height.

Yes Sir, Thank you for the concern, Why, thank you have a nice night yourself."

Once Johnny Law was satisfied after groping my moral lies, he gave me my license, a tip of the hat and scuttled off in the gravel and broken glass. Once on my own again, I buckled my seat belt, checked my mirrors and generally took about five minutes to see if this clown was on to me or not, either way, I didn't care. I kept my passenger side window down and this time I opened the sun roof.

I put my car, Finney, into first gear, lowered the emergency brake, my brake lights shining into Johnny Laws eyes for about ten seconds, and then I left the e-brake on and took my foot off the brake and popped Finney into neutral. I scrambled for cd's.

It was Todd snider that I found, and at that moment of my exasperated Johnny Law, So close on my ass, that goddamned fog light still blighting my eyes, threw his blue lights on, sat for a millimeter of a second, and then his back wheels threw gravel all over my crushed beer cans, he darted off into the night, his car's wails were absorbed by the concrete, animal carcasses and the tamed wilderness, and I watched him slowly disappear into the night, Finney's clock read 10:53 pm, which meant it was really 10:48. Mysterious, devious eyes shined at me in the rearview-I cracked a beer and peeled rubber into late night traffic, a semi wasn't startled, but that driver for the bus of junior high Jesus teachers sure swerved. I started to sing along, I also rolled down the back two windows with a drunkards ease.

I wasn't far off, The beer was growing warm so I had to drink it faster, but that still posed a problem upon my arrival at my desolation unit, my palace of despair, me, this cretin of ingenuity, driven by a drunkard named Finney, to his one and only palace of despair. Hysteria has never been a problem for this mind of moral erosion.

Step ahead to Track 2.

There's a truck turned over on the highway
Flares burning out of the snow
Freezing rain in the passing lane
I got forty five miles to go

Forty five miles
Forty five miles
Man that's gonna take all night
I should have known right away that something was wrong
When I started thinking things were all right
Things were not all right

My old man's sick, my sister's going broke
They're closing down my favorite bar
I got a smoker's cough and now to top it all off
I think I'm gonna wreck my car
I'm gonna wreck my car

They say life goes in stages like seasons
I say something about all of them sucks
It's as hard to be hot as it is to be cold
You're either out of control or you're stuck
You're either out of control
Or you're stuck

So take whatever road that you want to
Careful of the ice and the snow
I ain't got time to change my mind
I got forty five miles to go
Forty five miles
Forty five miles
Man that's gonna take all night
I should have known right away that something was wrong
when I started thinking things were all right
Things are not all right

Forty Six miles later, I was pulling into my lonely parking place littered with Marlboro butts and the decaying tree that stands sickly above Finney's resting point.

11:38 pm. Fuck, I guess I didn't need to buy the beer way back when. I'll be damned.

Finney coughed up waste like the tail pipes of cars usually do, I comforted him with my ass leaning against his wing, I looked down the street and back again.

"I feel like drinking some more, but this solitary shit is driving me fucking nuts."

I patted Finney's head like he was my child, also of ancient Mule-Like decent, "fuck it," I thought.

I could still buy beer and drink it in the cozy confines of God's Lap, my grinded subconscious, my regrets and fears down there in the dungeon constructed of hollow poetry, but I figured Finney provided enough of that, So I hit the pavement, found myself at the bar whose bartenders slouched lower than the regulars, the bar that had the etchings, promises to the devil in the bar top 'for just one more drink in exchange for the queasy soul' they had to promise. Bartenders with heavy hands and high skirts, if regret was a businessman with his mouth duct taped and his hands bound behind his back, then this was the launch pad of deceit and misery. With my eyes glazed over, I stared at a rerun of a boxing match that happened before I was born, terrible music infiltrating my ears, whiskey bleeding into my beer and a smile stained on my face, somewhere in this tangled mess I consider my life, I'm alive and some kind of invisible angel makes excuses for me, or not, I slip by God unknown and unannounced, I'm free and roaming, I'm a guy with a sense of humor for a soul, I'm a guy who rides the slippery slope of loneliness. Watching Saddam H. swing from his leash is enough to drink for all the reasons right and wrong. If anyone wants to join me in the toast to a falsified life and sarcastic dreams, I'll be the loner at the bar to say 'cheers' to reality. Because I know reality will be the first to turn its back on me. I commend imagination for making me feel so blessed.

The past is old and dead. Memories of Nightmares. I function and fight. The past is a culvert running under the road of insight and the drainage ditch is what we need to reflect upon life.

"I should have known right away that something was wrong
when I started thinking things were all right
Things are not all right"

Though, Drunk, I am. I am, Indeed, Still alive. I thrive and function. I smile because I still don't understand anything and know now that I never will.

Things are all right.