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A Million Little Pieces - James Frey [94]

By Root 1233 0
Wife, his Job, all of his money, and ends up in the Street drinking cheap wine straight from the bottle. All the while, Joe refuses to admit that he has a problem or that he has lost control. The story is told in simple words and in simple pictures consisting of empty outlines of figures and places, the inside of the outlines being the part that needs coloring. The idea, I am guessing, is that while spending time filling in the pictures, I am supposed to grasp the horror of Joe’s story and then relate that horror to situations in my own life. If Joe is out of control, I must be out of control as well. If Joe ended up on the Street, I better be careful, or I will end up in the Street with him. In the back of the book, after the conclusion of Joe’s story, which has a happy ending when he admits that he has lost all control and he joins AA, is a twenty-seven-question survey about the pattern of an individual’s drinking. The questions are simple and all of them require yes or no answers. Did you ever wake up on the morning after drinking and discover that you could not remember part of the evening before? Yes. Are there certain situations when you feel uncomfortable if alcohol is unavailable? Yes. When you are sober, do you regret things you have done while you were drinking? Yes. Do you have the shakes in the morning after drinking? Yes. Do you sometimes stay drunk for several days at a time? Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. I answer yes to every question, all twenty-seven of them, which, according to the key at the end of the survey, means that I’m in the late stages of chronic and dangerous Alcoholism. Tell me something I don’t fucking know.

I put the Razzle Dazzle Rose crayon back in the box and I pull out the Black crayon. Unlike most of the other crayons, Black has hardly been used. People probably avoid Black because it isn’t considered a happy color, and in here any form of happiness, even something as base as the color of a crayon, is coveted. I, however, like Black. It is a color that makes me comfortable and the color with which I have the most experience. In the darkest darkness, all is black. In the deepest hole, all is black. In the terror of my Addicted mind, all is black. In the empty periods of my lost memory, all is black. I like black goddamnit, and I am going to give it its due.

I flip back the pages of the book until I reach the first page. I pick up the beautiful Black crayon and I write I in a large, simple, block style, starting at the top of the page and finishing at the bottom, crossing over and ignoring any and all of the outlined figures. On the next page I write Don’t. On each of the following pages I write Need This Bullshit To Know I’m Out Of Control. When I am finished I review my work. Each page looks perfect and I like it. I close the book. Job well done, James. I don’t need this bullshit to know I’m out of control. Job well done.

I have an hour before lunch, so I toss the coloring book on the floor where it belongs and I pick up the Tao te Ching. I look at it, front and back, at the stupid quotes and the silly lettering and the funny name. I wonder if I was suffering from an episode of insanity when I last read it. I wonder if I was just tired or vulnerable from my encounter in the Clearing with Lilly. I wonder if the sound of Miles’s clarinet had somehow hypnotized me. I look at the book and I wonder how it affected me the way it did. I read only four pages.

I open it at number five on page five. I let my eyes run across the words. I let my brain process them. I let my heart feel them. Number five is like the rest. There is no good or evil, no Sinner or Saint. There simply is what is and that is it. You can use that to be and that is enough. Don’t talk about it or question it. Just let it be. Just be.

It still affects me and it still makes sense. It still moves me and it still rings true. That is all that matters. The truth. Does it ring true it does. I can feel it.

Number six. The Tao is the Great Mother the Great Father the Great Nothing. It is empty and inexhaustible. It is always present

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