An Excerpt from Alone in the Dark with a Bottle of Liquor.
Every morning, I pull out an empty canteen my pretentious definition for a fucking tin bottle of water. Every morning – I pull it out and fill it to the brim with water pouring from a soft, frosted, freshly chilled glass bottle.
As the canteen becomes more and more filled, the bottle is hastily emptied. The further I pour, the more noteworthy the figure on the front of the bottle becomes. This elegant, cleansing symbol takes full form as the bottle is nearly empty.
She’s winged. Regal. Her white feathers disappearing into an oceanic, mountain view.
I call her a dove, in spite of the fact that she takes the form of a goose. I call her a dove so as to purify the cold, biting, 80-proof water inside. I call her a dove so that the lies I tell myself appear as white as the sheen of my teeth.
I call her a dove, so as to instill the sense of miracle I find in her elixir. She smiles at me as the empty bottle goes in the trashcan Knowing all too well that I am going to see her again and soon. I taker her with me for the day each swig blessing my every step Each sip absolving me of the sins that echo in my head Each sip adding to the ethereal pool that will baptize me for the day. This water is holy. This water is pure. It’s comforting to know that with it I am born again. That with it I am clean That with it I have wings. It’s even more comforting to know that the water I carry can be used to purify a wound.