Guns, Guinness, and No Roses

Dead
Originally uploaded by kafkas_undies.

I can now die happy. Thank you, firearms!

I never knew instruments of death could deliver unobstructed serenity. But I guess that's what you get with weapons that first rouse you from fulfillment's slumber and then tuck you into a newfound sense of experiential satiety. Clean linens and all.

Chances are, you don't know what your life's been missing until you're confronted with two handguns and the opportunity to touch them. Such is life. Full of confusion and misplaced certainty rendered null and void by cold steel.

I never had an interest in guns. And personal politics leave me at a point of impasse, torn between my libertarian tendencies and a slightly less highfalutin "guns kill" theory. That said, I was sans pun disarmed when two guns found their way into a casual night of hanging and drinking.

"Have you ever held a gun?"

"No."

"Want to?"

"Okay."

And so it went. I held both guns. One a forty-five, the other a name I don't remember. I held both guns, stuck a feather in my Experiential Hat, and poured another Guinness. No shots fired, no blood shed; a good night.