Tuesday, September 10, 2013

I'll Take The Overdose, Please.

My most recent weekend was spent with the stinking drunk hooker we call stomach flu. You can call her Gastroenteritis if you are trying to get lucky.  No one ever wants to take responsibility for letting this transient into your house, but you know that you probably just picked her up and brought her home, not even paying attention. This whore wrecks your whole life but she brings some good drugs to the party.

Somewhere in one of your hallucinations you will decide that you are finally done getting sick for a while. Nice change to be sure. During this time, you will still be confined to your bed, sore, bored, but not strong enough to do anything else. Then you realize that you have an ipad, a wireless internet connection and a Netflix account.

Here is where you make decisions that change the course of things.

What do you want to watch? it sheepishly asks, dangling all sorts of crazy wares from its house of horror shop windows.... Want a cartoon? Want some drama? How about the portal into your own personal hell of freebasing all of the craziest shit you've never even thought about and normally wouldn't occur to you? Yeah, we thought so too, so we put it in your suggestions list. Go for it. What else are you doing, right?

You pick a documentary that, while basically terrible, and low budget, manages to insert yet another virus into your life. The virus of what if. What if there is any truth to this? What if these people arent' all totally crazy? What if the people responsible for the greatest attack on US soil were not actually brought to justice, and we don't totally know if we got the right people?

I am not normally this person. I claim temporary insanity.

After this foray into madness, I take a nap. I need to rest. That was some crazy shit, bro. Let's have some ginger ale and call that a day.

Except no.

I wake up, immediately searching my brain for ways to make what happened next not an attractive choice. Too late. I spend the next 24 hours immersing myself in all of the information and reports and articles and ways and reasons why I have been duped. In and out of a feverish sleep, I wake to find myself diving into yet more photographs, questions, interviews, chemical information, charts, graphs, everything telling me that I am looking at the greatest puzzle and simplest trick ever performed live for a one curtain only event.

My fever broke. I ate solid food. I got real sleep. I went back to being a normal person, got out of bed, and went to work.

I am not the kind of person that watches back to back episodes of shows, snorting them up in succession instead of in the weekly version they were meant to be viewed in. I need time to settle thoughts on things, check them out, before I can react.

Recently I have found myself very interested in research. Following a clue along its logical path until I find what I am looking for, often finding what I had no reason to suspect. I seek to know more, to hear it all, to listen and learn. I feel almost powerless, like no amount of information will ever truly be enough. I finally understand the plight of the addict. I am addicted to the truth, and when I think I've heard a lie, I will bleed myself dry trying to find what is real.

But this is no fever. There is no cure. You can't drown the kind of crazy I have in chicken soup and pedialyte. This is deep in my DNA. I am both victim and carrier monkey. I hope to infect everyone with the kind of curiosity to seek for the truth where someone is hiding it from you. So help you, whatever deity you pray to for salvation if I catch you lying to me. My actions are born of a type of sickness, the kind of mental disease that keeps people kissing meth pipes and loading heroin in syringes. You are not equipped to stop me. Neither am I.

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