(Vatchi):
You're not hearing what I'm hearing, Sotto. I'm hearing the
voice, no, the heart of a murderer expressed through Jim's voice, his response
to fear expressed as an emotional vacuum. Jim was left to feel alone in himself.
Hollow point bullets? That strange survivor's guilt, that knowledge,
barely felt, that he could have held that knife or gun. Hollow. Part of him
is empathetic victim. And then he turns his back on empathy and he turns his
back upon himself. Man's inhumanity to man looked squarely in the eyes and
immediately ignored. The hollowness that survival bestowed upon him. What about
that state of mind, Sotto? Denial of his alcoholism is not even part of
that. What of the glint in those murderish eyes? The glint of the knife? The
denial that is both empathy and emptiness? He stared at the knife and the knife
stared back at him. He shut himself off as a way to
survive.
Sotto,
Jim is really fucked up. Confusion as a survival strategy. But I think he has
the will to get better, to work through, to survive. Confusion as
survival.
from All Drinking Aside (Rough Draft, Chapter 16)
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