Monday, July 12, 2010

happiness and warm guns.

Happiness is a Warm Gun - The Beatles.

Very few people are unaware of my love for John Lennon. To this day I still believe that there is in fact at least one John Lennon song out there for everyone. This song... Ok. I read an interview with John for RS. He said something about the song being taken from the idea of someone who has guns, I think perhaps a hunter, this person has found happiness every time they shoot this gun and possibly kill something. Their happiness comes from a warm gun. To take something so trivial and find complete joy in it. That's true happiness.

So the question is: If someone is happy, completely happy, in a healthy non addicted way, would you try to take it away from them or change it because it wasn't how you wanted them to be happy? Tough one. And we see this happen everyday. Something today reminded me of people wanting to change each other unnecessarily. Living in a society where something created out of love is outlawed. How far gone are we as a society? Also was reminded of people's addictions and how damaging that can be without help. Could they put down the needle if they wanted to? Or not.  People shouldn't have to hurt themselves to feel alive.

Anyway this isn't what comes next... but thanks to all that here's a repost. It was about gambling and unnecessary risks. Sometimes we make unhealthy choices because we think it will makes us happy. Don't get me wrong, some risks are necessary and quite worth taking. Russian Roulette is not one of those. Nor is it a game. Enjoy if you've never read it... and it's actually been a while for me. Now that I have, I'm seriously contemplating a revision. more on that later. -m.

Barrel of a Gun.


“Your turn,” he motions the revolver at me. I spend half a minute hesitating before grabbing a hold of it. “Like I showed you,” he insists, “spin the chamber. Good boy. Now up against your chin. Firm, real firm. Hold it there. Pull the trigger.” CLICK! Nothing. “Now give it back here. Give me the gun.” Eagerly he snatches the piece from my small hands.

Yes Daddy

Those would be the last words I said to my father eighteen years ago. To this day I’m uncertain why we used to play the game. We would trade off about fifteen times each until nothing. At five years old you could hardly expect me to understand that my father was truly crazy. To me, he was the world and superhuman. I didn’t know about guns and psychological illness. To me, it was always game. Simply put, he cheered me on and I returned the admiration. Truthfully, I think we both thought he was invincible until that night.

The question you should be asking yourself: Do I feel lucky? Each time you test the fates and pull the trigger. Treading the deadly waters of chance and looking down the barrel of a gun. Fate has been following me for eighteen years and it’s only a matter of time before I’m caught. You would think I’d know better than to press along this path. Seeing the end result of this journey pass before my own eyes isn’t enough to quit. Needless to say I can not. Which brings me to my present situation tonight, sitting in the back room of Trevor’s house watching the four of us pass around the gun. In the front room, the TV is blaring out the sounds of some unknown comedy with a delayed laugh track that spookily interrupts between turns. Almost if death himself sits in the very next room and finds amusement in our foolish game.

Trevor’s up. Spins. CLICK! Nothing. Anthony spins. CLICK! Nothing. Charles. CLICK! Through the door like a storm of chaos, Lee emerges into the room and grabs the gun. She had been sitting on the couch watching from the corner of her eye trying to tune out the sounds, and obviously had enough. “NO MORE! THIS IS NOT A GAME!” Trevor leans back and waits. No one in the room reacts. We know the score. This is our meth, our crack, our hedonistic desire. We’re all addicts in the room and this obsession is completely unrelenting.

“Lee, give me back the gun. Don’t be a fucking buzzkill! You should join in. It might make you feel alive again. Besides you can’t stop us. It’s gonna happen here, at one of the boys’ houses or even in some dark empty place, but make no mistake you can not stop this.” Trevor snatches the gun back. She heads out of the house in a huff. The theatrics of caring. Lee is never able to stop the game, but I think it makes her feel better knowing that she tried.

It’s my turn and the boys are rallying around. “Jack, pull the trigger! Come on! Make it a clean twenty-five thousand!” Trevor believes in my invincibility a bit more than I do. Personally this fixation has dragged on longer than I could have ever imagined. Trevor and I had been at this since the beginning of College when I shared my dark obsession. The madness of my private game that never ended became a fascination for him. Longing for the companionship that my father once held, I let Trevor join. To say there weren’t injuries along the way would be lying. Trevor is missing his ear and part of his chin is permanently scarred from the graze of a bullet. My own damn luck has never failed me all these years and I’m beginning to wonder if it ever will. Gun to head. CLICK! Nothing. Laugh track roars.

“WHOO BOY! DAMN! DRINK TO THAT!” Trevor celebrates and takes another shot of whiskey with the boys. Another week as far as I’m concerned, and it’s game over. The only reason I take my part in the weekly circle is for company in death. The boys joined Trevor and me about six months back and for the most part it still seems fun. However, unlike the others, the rules I play by are quite different. The others are allowed to finesse and bend the game if you will. You can put the gun to any part of your body. Arms, legs, chest, stomach, face, head, etc. Charlie lost a toe a few weeks back and has been incredibly daring since. Anthony has only experienced a flesh wound from the game. My own personal death wish prevents me from trying to skip out on the ultimate end. In the other room, I can see that Lee is sitting on the couch again. She’s been crying and it’s hard to imagine anyone caring so much.

The problem with my addiction is that I’m always lucky. Can you imagine trying to stop a gambler who’s always on a wining streak? Same difference. The arrogance within me can not be at rest. The game will always continue… until it ends. When that final moment happens and the bullet is destined to bring about my destruction.

Something about tonight is special and I’m not ready to throw in the towel. The boys are out for sure. Even Trevor wants to just sit on the porch and smoke. I insist that they watch. “At least rally me on boys! A few more rounds… for kicks.” Spin the gun on the table and wait for the boys to agree. Charlie nods and sits back down. Anthony will be back after a smoke. Trevor stays seated on my left. To my surprise, there’s a new person at the table in front of me. “Lee?” I ask. “I thought you despised this. Why do you want to watch?” She sits quietly in front of me, looks up into my eyes, and takes the gun from me. Spin. Gun to my forehead. CLICK! She’s in.

It’s the least likely of people that can surprise you. I can’t imagine why she’s doing this. Trevor is hysterical. “Jack! Stop the game! She can’t do this. Call it a night!” I can’t. There’s an end in my grasp. I can feel it. She slides the gun across the table at me. My turn. I’m on the edge of my seat. We’re playing double trouble. I slide the gun back. She takes a shot. I take a shot. The game goes on for twenty minutes and every release of the trigger brings a gasp in the room. It’s so quiet you can hear only shallow breathing in anticipation of that final sound. The game is reaching a point of stand still. She hesitates. Maybe she’s realized that this is going no where. Spinning. Looking down at the barrel of the gun. Stops. Raises her head and looks at me. Hands continue to hold the gun. Spin again. Lifts the gun. Contact with temple. Trigger. Final sound reverberates as her body hits the floor.

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