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[breakhisvow]

Did you know they used to mix chemicals with moonshine back in the 20's? Denounce alcohol as an immoral demon, and the next thing you know, you've got men pouring formaldehyde into bathtubs to strengthen shoddy attempts at moonshine. Speakeasy frequenters drank it up the glass. Even though they probably knew the taste was off. Like that hint of embalming fluid in your Monkey Gland? But the alcohol didn't matter. You know what I'll say next: it's the feel, the effect, forgetting about that crappyday.

Just like it didn't matter for me. Hennessey, Budweiser, Campari, whatever I could get with wadded-up dollar bills. Nicked it, if necessary. Just keep drinking it up like water and the names become negligible. It's for the feel, the effect.

It helped managed those dreams. Red-haired twins. A feast upon their lips - of the brain and heart, roasted slowly and set on earthen plates.

But I'd done it to myself. Stood beside the devil and tasted ichor, as if begging for delirium to stave off obsession. Drown yourself in spirits and obsession seems more manageable, until you realize your liver's rotting and you're nearly dead.

...Wow, wasn't I fucking dramatic. Must be a curse.

Comments

[discanted.livejournal.com]

Either. Both. I cannot say. He is a kinder companion outside of... this. No, I cannot say.

[breakhisvow.livejournal.com]

It was not if I hadn't played a part in my self-destruction, Marius. I walked head-long into it- nearly voluntarily, really. Don't lay too heavy a judgment on Armand.

He didn't kill me.