Benutzer
Passwort

Beitrag   2 Bewertungen   2 Favoriten  
Autor: Morgenstern

Erstellt am: 12.01.2010

Beitrag für Buch vorschlagen

Zufälliger Beitrag



Artikelliste


Direkter Link zum Artikel



Thoughts with alcohol



Geschrieben von:   Morgenstern


Teil des Episodenwerkes: A Drinker's Diary

  - Einleitung
  - Kapitel 1: Thoughts with alcohol
  - Kapitel 2: Thoughts about alcohol
  - Kapitel 3: Thoughts about alcohol
  - Kapitel 4: Thoughts with alcohol
  - Kapitel 5: Thoughts with and about alcohol
  - Kapitel 6: Thoughts with alcohol
  - Kapitel 7: Thoughts about alcohol
  - Kapitel 8: Thoughts with alcohol
  - Kapitel 9: Thoughts about alcohol
  - Kapitel 10: Thoughts about alcohol
  - Kapitel 11: Thoughts about alcohol
  - Kapitel 12: Thoughts with alcohol
  - Kapitel 13: Deterioration
  - Kapitel 14: Gedanken mit John an meiner Seite.


I feel old, weak and done for, though I’m not yet 19 years of age.
Like the old wolf, who has led his pack through many winters, I feel, though I have only lived through a couple and my contribution to the survival of others is questionable.
As the old metaphor of the moth describes, I have circled through steps of my life, first slowly and uncertain then self-conscious and quickly. I have risen higher and higher in my years in Canada, coming so close to the sun that the wax began to melt. But I didn’t fall then and I won’t be burned by the light ball now. There is no young wolf, ripping my throat out, making himself leader of the pack, but only I and the old best friend, who has turned against me.
I didn’t know what the light ball was, with which I could have ended my flight on the peak. I tended to believe that it was a woman, Marie, but this, like so much more, has become questionable. I never burned myself on her; I never dared to go the final step on her account, because I wasn’t sure if this was the peak.
It seems the quick and determined end of Ikaros or the moth was not meant for me. It seems I will descend slowly: Following my memory and physical strength, my intellect will go, failing me.
One friend rips on it, slowly creating more and more wounds, letting my life’s blood go drop by drop. Slowly the drops will turn to a river until the moment comes, on which I will bother to write no more, because I know where it shall all end.