08 December 2020

Editor’s Note: This wild year is coming down to some last excitement. Rather than dwell on the exciting tumult, I think Marlow’s recollection from September is sensible and prescient.

– Vic

​Author’s note: Written during Election 2020’s dark debate days in the fall, I put this piece aside. With my Peach State’s airwaves now being tsunami’d by televised political ads, mailboxes with USPS mailers and electronic devices by push poll emails, texts and phone calls regarding our state’s two US Senate seats, it seems apropos.

-Marlow

​September 2020

Whiskey High Life®️

Living out one’s life during 2020 often seems like writer’s block to me — painfully waiting, living word to word, line to line. More than a few of us are living that way now, no? Sure seems like we unwashed have lost control of life’s threads with no good idea of what’s around the corner, while the icy teeth of the political blizzard du jour are snapping out west ready to “Boiiinnnnnng!” us in the morning’s breaking news.

It’s like we’re blocked at every turn. Depressing for sure. so heavy whiskey drinking appears as the answer that many, if not most, would choose for legal, quick acting, fast-fast relief in the cottony world those sainted waters’ cocktails create.

So as a country song might go . . .

Don’t believe in these preachers
Don’t think like we’re being told
It’s a different way of living here
Beyond DC’s beltway media cold

Ah, it’s tough most times, good news is hard to find
Living life one word to the next, one headline at a time
There’s more to life than whiskey, there’s more to words than rhyme
Sometimes nothing but whiskey works, most days it’s the only thing that shines

Nightly whiskey’s warm and smooth, but never mean
Should it ever burn, it’ll finish me off clean
Don’t like it watered down, I take it with one cube or neat
If today’s news was bad for you, you know it was bad enough for me

New media’s full of old timey, snow-job crap
Leads to lonely isolation — a pale hologram trap
Can’t see it’s propaganda, we’re just being sold
Please vote against your interests, do as you’re told
Hard not to be one of the congregation, be saved in their fold
Get right with your candidate savior, come on in out of the cold

There’s more to life than whiskey
There’s more to words than rhyme
Sometimes nothing but whiskey works
Most days it’s the only thing that shines

Postscript:

Seeing these specters as simple lies
One BS tale leveling up atop another just like 7-layer pies
Truth will tumble from early November’s aching skies
Trickling down upon us, hitting right between our eyes

Copyright © 2020 From My Isle Seat
www.vicsocotra.com