After 32 years I’ve learned one thing for certain, that’s even if you just watched a tragedy unfold around you then you better still be able to smile and be grateful for it. Even the Greeks learned to dress their tragedies up in smut and wordplay. It seems Dionysus was with me from the beginning. My life has become a reenactment of one of his divine rituals. In youth humor would suffice but as I aged, I quickly was introduced to the usual “cure” for madness. And my madness had lost its subtlety faster than I lost my innocence, which I’m actually not sure I ever had. When the madness couldn’t be shoved into the back of my mind any longer, I found myself running back to the tit and the bottle. The only comfort most men find before death. But my story isn’t one of tragedy. There is definitely humor in not that the comfort I sought existed beyond death, but in the rebirth I found from diving fearlessly into my madness. Even in the eye of a storm there is a sanctum of peace. As I gazed at myself from the center, the source of my light, I laughed knowing I was just a boy afraid of his own shadow.
