BONG`s BONDS 34 (p2)
I should clarify perhaps what I`ve meant by correlating being a Devil`s advocate with the empathy and forgiveness. Having spent almost my whole life befriending the weirdoes, criminals, addicts and the mentally ill, has taught me to be non judgmental. To defend some truly bizarre behavior I had to relate to them, to step into their shoes- which is I guess is somewhat empathic. They say that you can measure how empathic you are by how much you yawn as a result of seeing someone else do it. I used to yawn allot.
This attraction to the outcasts was in me for as long as I can remember. Through the first grade of my school I got bullied- nothing traumatic, but quite annoying. In the second grade my foes were starting to show some signs of the future to be spent in prison. The two 8 year old begun smoking, skipping school, doing some petty thefts and things like breaking into the school cafeteria at night to urinate in the soup de jour. By that time I was their friend- not the best such, but nevertheless. I neither smoked, nor steal, but often kept them a company. In the fourth grade I`ve realized that they were retards, which didn`t stop me from having them at the outskirts of my social circle. It was a secure feeling, having the most feared bastards in school calling me a friend. It may become a topic for my therapy. I begun having a few of the kind as my personal entourage, paying them in chewing gums. I`m lucky to have grown out of this manipulative stage quite soon, but at the time I rolled on with it, having a few criminals as my palls at the age of 12. I couldn`t call them my friends, finding them honestly too stupid for my taste. Not a simpatico dumb as a puppy, but aggressively dim. There was something that always attracted me to the people, who just didn`t give a f**k. I was generally never too picky, when it came to choosing friends- as long as you are not a violent psychopath, a hateful person- or painfully boring- I`m sure we will get along just fine.
I had some intelligent friends as well, but I wasn`t quite as turned on by their collections of trilobites and stamps. There was something missing. –It turned out to be the drugs and alcohol. Drinking or smoking weed made you automatically “my kind of people”, even before my first joint. Combination of the bright and passionate minds and some dope was the golden ticket to the fulfilling relationships. Soon I did not have to choose between the two worlds- criminally unconventional or intellectually satisfying. My first true best friend attracted me with his general weirdness and the fact that he lived next door to me and as a bonus-he smoked.
We used to meet each other every half an hour to share a cigarette outside the apartment and corroborate each other’s relentless monotony, while discussing getting laid, politics and suicide. I begun corrupting his student head, taking him with me on my hooligan tours, that I`ve described earlier. Beer was that last missing bit, which transformed our childish pranks and time wasting into the full time occupation of getting wasted as often as possible. He drew the line at taking drugs. I felt sad having to lose him to the chemical sobriety, however I was not about to stop in my development. I had difficulty to understand his choice, since he was the one speaking about the best way to end his life and the drugs were so much better than just hanging. I have to admit however, that with me out of his life he soon got a job at a big news paper.
Suicide and disillusionment seemed to be a reoccurring theme amongst my friends and I loved it. Deeply dark and depressive attitude was not only cool, but went with vodka like a pickled cucumber. The Russian spirit at its most stereotypical. Don`t get me wrong - we did have fun and laughed allot- witty malevolent sarcasm did not disagree with the self destructive nihilism.
It was just perfect- I truly belonged. When it came to drinking and drugs I often pushed the limits just a little bit further, always finding someone from the gang, who didn`t yet have a hangover. I seldom noticed any side effects of my drinking, except for the things like an occasional sleep walking. Rare hangovers usually were cured before I had a time to fully wake up. Gregory was one of the true gems, never refusing a drink. He was a talented poet, however his work was way too depressing to be published in the USSR. He was a special kind of alcoholic- drinking fast, falling asleep within minutes and peeing in his pants during the brief nap, shortly thereafter waking up with a huge smile. I`m sure he is dead now.
“Alone and pregnant, dead, dead, fat like hell and sick in the head, disappeared from the radar, whore, married a rich guy” –was the update on the girls from the group, when I`ve managed to contact one of them over the internet.
In the little of what remains of my memory from those days they will always stay young, beautiful and eternally buzzed.
Na zdorovje!
Times long gone, when the alcohol was not a social lubricant, an escape, or way to have fun- we did not need it- it was a natural way of living. It was not the quantities consumed that determined its role, but the very attitude towards it- something so natural and ever present, that it was like air- always there and needless to discuss. I don`t remember ever hearing that someone was drunk- you were either awake or asleep. I guess it takes a very young mind and body to have the sturdiness to be able to appreciate it at this level. Romanticizing? You bet ya! That is why I am an alcoholic and you are not.
This kind of friendship felt as real as it gets. There was something very genuine about the people without the social restrains, ones beyond the norm.
I always knew what they really felt and a rare thought went by unspoken. The same quality I found amongst most of the criminals in prison. There were certain rules of conduct of course, but very simplified ones. Punishment for breaking them was swift and direct ass kicking, which I did not approve, still I enjoyed the general ease with which emotions and thoughts were expressed. The rare attempts at manipulation were often too transparent for the less naive and a hidden agenda was rarely present amongst the criminals. I have to say though:
Kids! Alcohol may also take away those filters and restrains, but it`s in no way can improve your social skills. No matter how many years you drink- all your reservations and phobias will be there, once you sober up. So- never stop drinking or become a bad ass criminal.
I begun believing that to make it big in the conformists world, be it climbing the business or social ladder, it was necessary to adapt the insincere laughter, cold smiles, backstabbing and all the things you may find in a soap opera. To think this way may have been a way to excuse my lack of ambitions, but it worked and I had my validation for being a loser.
Sinicism compels me to admit another thing: the revolutionary ideas work best on an empty stomach. You will hardly make a rebel out of someone who is economically secure, while you can inspire a whole nation to murder their own neighbors, if the daily bread is an issue. (Lenin, Hitler). It`s luckily not always true as is the example with the 60-es renaissance- you don`t always have to fight against something, it may work better to fight for something. While Bush, for example believes in fear as the great motivational and uniting tool for the nation; being a tool himself he missed the ongoing shift in the collective psyche. So I am rather optimistic. Yet again in my life I`m finding the middle path. I may no longer be a rebel, but I`m far from becoming one of the suits.
