(Surimi): Jim is
incomplete now because his life was incomplete then. His blackouts were the rude
punctuation marks of a diseased brain.
And not just alcohol. The chemicals, known and
unknown, in Angel Dust, marijuana, and a host of others.
The best prisoner is he who does not know that he
is imprisoned. The door is closed but is not locked because no key is ever
sought.
"Drink me and everything will be alright,"
whispers the auditory hallucination.
Blind loneliness as the final result.
Stop.
He stopped.
Now what? What next?
Where?
from All Drinking Aside (Rough Draft, Chapter 36)
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