Suicide Tuesday, is a term fashioned by ecstasy and methamphetamine users to describe the final destination of a bleak, barren dawn after journeying all weekend on the ephemeral euphoria of alternative reality.
Partying with both feet in the river Friday, Saturday and Sunday, using-up all their verve and spirit (and stash,) they crash on Monday, sleeping from midnight to midnight to awaken on Tuesday morning bathed in the sober yellow haze of stark banality.
Suicide Tuesday.
Pretty nasty, sounds like something Quentin Tarantino dreamed up. Most of us are fortunate enough not to have to face such a dilemma but we have our own mini ST moments.
Credit cards are notorious for that. What were you thinking when you paid for the whole gang? And Jill had lobster no less, and a bottle of Chardonnay. Use it up that’s what we think, Carpe Diem…seize the day, but now it has you by the throat.
ST can be as innocent as a bag of Lays potato chips, until you get to the crumbs at the bottom and pat your belly. Were they that good? Rather dry and salty, next time, oh next time, you’ll put them back on top the fridge where they belong, before you go too far. Oreos fit in that same scenario.
These are minor failings of planning compared to ST nightmares.
Passion has all the consequences of Rave behavior. Dance, dance forever, things will never change…until Tuesday.
ST is a front-loaded affair. Consequences be damned.
Writers and artists experience ST moment by moment. When the muse sits on her shoulder, the painter is euphoric. As the writer fills the page with dash and metaphor he sits atop the heap, but when the ink runs dry and inspiration vanishes, the harsh sun beats down like a spotlight, illuminating every flaw and weakness.
The antidote for ST begins on Friday with a glance at the calendar and a realization that Tuesday awaits, not as an enemy but as an ally if we are fortunate enough to gain the moment. There are legions of supporters massed upon the borders of our daily dilemmas. Where we place our faith has true value. A sure bet embraces unconditional love, dedication and tolerance. These are the tenets that never go up in smoke, or, swallowed like a pill, work through the system only to leave the body exhausted and vacant.
So simple, Suicide Tuesday can’t stand the light of love. Everything else is just another dilemma.
TMD
2 comments:
St comes after the trip from Phoenix with 250 pounds of clay in the back of the Volvo. It's now in the studio and what the hell am I going to do with it.
I say, tell ST to take a dive in an abyss of tar and shape a mountain of potato chips with your clay ... just make sure they have ridges; my favorite.
Post a Comment