"My Hiroshima, My Nagasaki"

    Thinking of my disease when I was in my disease was a pleasing cul-de-sac at times. Trapped, but a drink would fix all that. My deadened thinking somehow allowed me to separate myself from my disease and being separate from it in many ways allowed it, encouraged it. The courage to be discouraged. Some such insanity. Separation from reality allowed its separation. Insane.

    Too much saki. Too, too, too much saki. Too much, too much, Nagasaki. Insane.

Evening Meditation:

    When addiction co-opted the pleasure system of my brain, my irrational thoughts and fears became a perpetual motion machine whose purpose for spinning was spinning to spin. The waterwheels and windmills fueled by the self-sustaining powers of alcohol. Eternity seemed complete in my alcoholic delusion. At least for twenty years or so. from All Drinking Aside (Rough Draft, Day 49)