Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound

​​"What's your outlook on life?" she asked.

Tomorrow is not going to be better than today.

“You’re angry” was her reply.

And she's correct.

I write to make meaning out of things.

Truth always comes screaming out.

FUCK!

I am on the living side of a death dodging season and all I want to do is scream.

Scream loud.

Scream angry.

Scream until the very act of screaming hurts.

I’ve spent the last 5 ½ months working to find peace in a violent time.

I’ve kept it together, but a cathartic release is now at hand.

FUCK!

I scream it high upon the mountain.

I scream it low in the darkest timber.

I scream it when I’m alone.

It screams inside of me when I’m with others.

FUCK!

I try to scream it all out.

But there’s an endless supply of scream in me

and I know I’m addicted to the screaming.

FUCK!

I am climbing and skiing strong.

This season’s training has undoubtedly paid off.

But it’s made me too comfortable.

I need to climb higher, suffer longer and retreat to the miserable pain that makes me so happy.

FUCK!

I can’t shake this self-destructive adventure.

I’m pretty sure I don’t want to.

I dislike the quiet and relish the scream.

I’m pretty sure Alaska will not be enough

It’s always easier to sabotage the journey rather than end it.

Always screaming.