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Editor’s Note:

The thoughts and mental images portrayed here are those of the author, an unavoidable response to his attendance at the wedding of Mr. Michel R. Summers and Miss Melina M. Maxwell, and reflect little else. Conceived as a piece of Gonzo persuasion, it’s meant to toe the divide between perception and event rather than purely recording the facts as they transpired. The truth is: recording and remembering facts is a shady business calling for precision and exactness. Attributes the current writer does not possess and has expressed no desire to acquire. Instead, it seeks to emulate the feeling of the writer as induced by his chosen environment. The players in this production are the same as ever before. They’ve performed this act a thousand times from the dawn of civilization. Names and faces may appear to be different, but the universal telling of this tale is fermented into the redundant collective history. So don’t be disappointed when you don’t find anything new.

That’s not what an editor would write to introduce a timeless commentary on the human condition – heavy aspirations, to which the current work does not aspire. Do


I.

Everything else is background noise, feel the beat and ride it as far as you can 

The date was June 19th, in the benevolent year of our Lord, Two Thousand and Four. I was en route to a wedding, speeding west along highway I-96 at optimum velocity with the Doors blaring near peak volume. My dependable 24 valve V6 Sable, which had been a part of many jaunts to deserts, mountains, and New Orleans hummed away without protest. I was channeling Mad Max and imagined the turbo kicking in as I floored the gas and took the left lane. The precision shocks were happily absorbing those nasty cracks and 

”When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.” – Hunter S. Thompson

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II. It means not looking for a return on your emotional investment.

Weddings ultimately mean different things to different people. Standing in the audience and waiting for the bride to walk down the aisle, your mind has to be contemplating something aside from the nights’ prime time TV schedule. Maybe you think weddings are old fashioned, an elaborate hoax meant to make life seem more meaningful than it actually is. If two people are in love, who cares what others think? What's the point of making it official in a giant circus performance? Why not a simple ceremony? Something intimate just for the two of you and the legal witnesses? Cut the bullshit and fly to Vegas. Well, because maybe it’s not just about the two of you? Deep down people love parties and mass gatherings, perhaps it’s your responsibility to open the doors and let everyone share in the experience, if only 13


III.

Last Thoughts Before Being Born

I wish that I could remember quiet nuances and subtleties about the wedding ceremony, paint an elaborate imagery of the red carpet and elegant setting for you, dear reader. But novels are selfish accounts of the author, not of those who make up the story. Every painting is a self-portrait. For good or ill my mind records feelings, the details are unimportant. Somehow it's all just a blur in my mind, and I find it strange that so many alcohol-fueled trips from my past remain burned into the brain with laser clarity while the sober �Is Everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin.� – Jim Morrison



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IV.

Elixir of the Gods

In my uneducated opinion there is one most sacred, sought-after and ultimately essential tradition to any successful wedding. Some would say it is a magic formula of sorts, guaranteeing a smashing climax to the evening by ensuring freeflowing dialogue and visual expressions on the dance floor. For sure, there must exist an inviting array of legal liquid depressants ripe for consumption. Or as a normal person might describe it, an open bar stocked with quality booze. Admirably this one included large bottles of Maker's Mark, imported rum, and high-grade gold tequila. The celebration of two people in love is always best celebrated by losing your own mind. Public health officials might characterize my association between this magic formula and a festive behavior as evidence of something called social binge drinking. It’s generally frowned upon 33


V.

Carpe Noct

There are many types of parties. Sometimes the definition just involves people standing around and talking. A wine and cheese party, for example – very intellectual, very refined. Others are ruckus affairs including whole houses filled with drunken fools and empty beer kegs strewn across the yard – very Bohemian, a tad Pagan. For a truly successful party you need human interaction and freewheeling enjoyment. There should be a mix, a balance between societal constraints and Neanderthal sensibilities. The tempo has to be right and it’s impossible to know how the thing will turn out before it starts. That’s half the reason to go, because if you stay home, you’ll

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VI. Only a determined removal of the thin veils of society sets the soul free...A beast approaches

I remember James coming at me slow but deliberate...or perhaps it was quick and erratic my mind was displaying the scene in a lumbering menagerie of snapshot images. The next thing I remember is falling into a beautiful light-blue painting textured by small white bubbles. The water was warm and rushed in around my body with a quiet benevolence. I was sober enough to pull in a lung full of air before going under but for a second my world went black and the disjointed halo of noise stopped ringing around my head. The drunken mind can’t reconcile a static world 

He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man” –Dr. Johnson

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VII.

The night is also mortal 

Sometime in the early morning hours after everyone had left the pool, or simply left the party - our rhythm changed. The inertia of the Night had been manipulated, and the momentum was now moving in another direction. Such changes are difficult to sense out at first, but the keen participant can feel it. Sadly, we knew that it was time to leave – the just crested wave was rolling back. Sometimes it’s hard to remember the exact event that precipitates the night’s surrender, but in this case it was a precise act, which undeniably signaled the end. A week later we tried to figure



“Your only friend, the end.” –The Doors

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VIII.

Epilogue

No wordy recollection is ever truly complete without an after-thought, a commentary on how events have invoked changes in the perception of the author's life. How has the self-portrait changed? You have to keep on evolving in life soaking up experiences and let yourself be affected by them. This doesn't mean that they change you completely or that you find Nirvana because the party was a really good time, but it's always important to take something away. Sometimes the impact of events can be judged by examining the effect on ones imagination and perceptions, and nothing speaks truer than free wheeling Alpha 73


Revolt from the Singles Table  

Revolt from the Singles Table, book preview about a guy heading to a wedding and the resulting musing on love and relationships.

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