Jesse Millner: The Bus Driver's Book of the Dead

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  MEMOIR by Jesse Millner
Polish Wedding  Devolution  Aliens Among Us  Eddie Jones  Dave   Tom MarionStarved Rock State Park  
The Alcoholic Point of View   My Lost Season  Listening for God  I Remember a Pet Peeve  Hair Salon Panic Attack!  
Please Don't Bury Me in that Cold, Cold Ground
 
 

The Alcoholic Point of View

When the bourbon sours in your mouth, use second person to distance yourself from that first person who’s hung over this autumn morning when the city streets bleed with the fire of red-fallen leaves beneath overcast October. Yes, choose a convenient host for your depression, pass him the near-empty bottle you’ve been caressing all night as you’ve slowly slipped out of your body, that sluggish temple of the “I,” the flesh you’ve fed alcohol for years until now when the “I” has had it, wishes to pass this bitter cup to a third person perhaps, someone wise and all-seeing who can lift the sorrow from your brain and make it his own. But these shifts in perspective never work, and the cold wind pushes the leaves into gutters, and the chimes on the porch of the Victorian house down the street sound more like absence than music. And you realize that whichever narrator you choose, the ruins of your own life live in his voice and all the dreams you’ve shouldered since childhood dim in his eyes, too. But he is omniscient and you’re not. Godlike, he cradles your spirit in his hands, blows hard into the kindling until the “I” catches fire, leaving you behind in its wake of white smoke.

end

  © 2010, Jesse Millner

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