By The Skin Of My Blood

Never do anything by half is a tenet I adhere to without fail or compromise. I live at the mercy of extremes and never shy from excess, whatever the outcome. Its not that I have no care for Life because I DO (and Love to Live it) but I see little to no point in moderation. There is no taste in it; moderation is very bland like the white breast meat of chicken. I prefer dark meats along with even darker pleasures.
Some of my habits, such as drinking over 30 alchol units a night, would be considered by some as a deathwish, but it simply is what it is and I cannot abide sticking to one or two glasses when I have gallons swilling in bottles before me. I eat to get full, same as I drink to get drunk. If anything it is GREED that fuels my unhealthy appetite, not death. And a loathing of doing things in halves. Enjoying sensible measures does not appeal at all and while death will surely be the final result, it is not the motive.
I see no fun in having a few glasses of wine with a steak meal. I want ALL the wine, I want ALL the beef, the whole damned cow! My arteries and organs are hardened to such calamity, they shrug it off like they were forged in granite. In fact my body at times DEMANDS the vices that fire my soul.
If I get no satisfaction in only eating one beefburger what is the point? Ditto with anything else I partake of. Of course some people are content in living healthy and staying within sensible boundaries, good luck to them but its not for me. Im having too much fun with a deadly diet. And im not a fool, I understand there will be a price to pay but im willing to pay it. For a fancy time in blood halls and surfing on the light of alcohol I am glad to pay.
Forget about lecturing me on the virtues of water or fruit, I have no time and even less need for calm. Wreckless souls are not dim, we fly at a 1000mph KNOWING one day we will crash like bugs on a cars windscreen but we only ever take a quick glance at the brake before dismissing it completely to carry on ripping through fierce lanes of gluttony.
Its not all howls and giggles however, as years roll on the gathering scars get heavier (both on skin and in spirit) and harder to carry. What used to be minor coughs and headaches become inflamed by near constant abuse and at times it can become a chore to simply focus. The waves are rough and if no proper care is taken, one can find themselves in a hurricane of misery. To live so near to the knuckle takes dedication, demands are high but on the flipside the pleasures outweigh the thunders.
For myself I find no inspiration from walking on a path of moderation because those monsters and demons do not inhabit those routes. There is no 'theatre of the absurd' there, nothing to lift my imagination. I need the demons that dwell within to stir me to write my verses. My creations would be a lot less interesting were they forced to come out from sober realms. Im not this way to live up to a character or fit some stereotypical portrait; this is me, always has been, even before I was aware of what I have.
White meat has never turned me on. I belong in the fetid ranks of fatty tissue and fire water where all things come to life in a sombre yet accurate 'vision'. I sit on the hem of death throwing words into the air before that final drink or pill carries me off to death's heart where I will learn which of my many sermons was closest to being accurate. God love those dangerous toxins because I need them to spin my yarns. My world is a place where hardly anything is taboo, a place where oblivion is welcomed.
I am not running FROM anything, im running INTO things. Obviously excess is no 'absolute teacher' or divine eye opener but it does point you in the direction of certain truths if you keep your eyes open. Sometimes shadows can cast a light and many dark times have revealed answers for me.
Most people are content in moderation and are quite happy for the longer life that stems from wise limits. But its not for me and if sticking to goose fat and gin wittles my years to nothing then im grateful because a long life on earth will do me no good. I am not depressed and neither am I suicidal, I Love Life to its giddy hilt but in the same breath I also KNOW that a short quality filled snifter of it will do me more of a favour than dragging my wheezing frame through to its twilight years.
I have discovered so many different channels by living under the bottles beak and in the spot where the fragile seed landed all those years ago now stands a firmly rooted tree, displaying a multitude of branches of all persuasions. And when these roots wither from bitter juices my bark will not frown like most other barks seem to do. It will glisten like the scales on a carp.