Vignettes of Ruin and...

Intoxicatus (the God of Self -Obliteration)

In Gluttony on January 23, 2011 at 3:24 pm

My fiancé is a slave to the God of Self -Obliteration. There is no question of his dedication to his god. Each day brings with it new opportunity to offer up some part of himself. He honours Intoxicatus with acts that are deceptive in their simplicity. Like emptying the last few coins from his wallet to pay for a bottle of vodka, the day the mortage repayment is due. God comes first. His bedside locker is a humble shrine of 50 cent bottle openers and colourful shining bottle caps, each one a prayer to take away his perpetual suffering. When he wakes in the morning, his bloodshot eyes are heavy with his devotion. His name is Vincent and he is an Alcoholic.

He cannot understand why I will not let him worship in peace. He cannot appreciate my worry when he starves himself, like Jesus in the desert, in order to be more clearly open to receive the gift of Intoxicatus, to give himself up to his elixir. My fears make him so angry sometimes he cannot control his rage and calls me terrible names and accuses me of things I have not done.

Sometimes, clarity brings fresh realisation and he tries to usurp his god from his heavenly pedestal. He begs me for support in his transition. It is these moments that bind me to him, although they are too often brief and never permanent. It’s just that he has loved Intoxicatus for much longer than he ever loved me.

His god takes away his pain. Forgiving and all-encompassing, Intoxicatus loves all his Children. He has never had to cope on his own, with Intoxicatus surging through his blood. With his mind dizzied and his body slack, he is no longer tethered to his wordly cage. Like a bright, bobbing balloon, he slips from my grasp and I watch him float away.

How easily being intoxicated could be described as being poisoned. Yet we make very specific, connotative distinctions between the two.

If we are intoxicated, it is likely we are enjoying the embrace of a delicious submersion in something pleasurable. But if we are poisoned, no two ways about it, we are going to be sick, we may possibly even die and one thing is for certain, we will be in need of a reviving antidote soon or else we risk great and permanent damage  to ourselves. The word intoxication itself seems full of promise, but the word poison brings with it a sense of horror. Yet what really separates them in this reality?

-This Russian beer is really intoxicating, 9.5%, you should have some! he exclaims. I shake my head and cover my ears.

-Poison! I say. It is poisonous and it is slowly killing you.

-Pish-posh, he says. I am always okay in the end. The drink looks after me.

Do you want to see Black Swan in the cinema tomorrow, after work?

I change the subject just as much as he does.

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  1. this is the most creative i’ve ever heard such a sad story.

  2. thanks i think! just looking for a way to release some pent up frustration in a way that won’t frustrate me further.

  3. Sadly, I can relate to a lot of this, and the way you have worded it … the bobbing balloon, the loving of his God for longer than he has ever loved you … I hope there is no truth in this, but from the way you written it all I think there is. An amazing piece in terms of the writing itself, but also the piercing truth of it.

    • PS I should rephrase my comment: the way you have written that piece is as though you have truly experienced the situation. That, as a writer, is an amazing achievement. There … that’s better. 🙂

  4. thank you so much for your kind words.

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