Volatalistic Phil
Contact- Twitter: @PhilVolatile
Phil Volatile (formerly Volatalistic Phil) is the crap dice hero saint of orphan love who's been slamming into the speed bumps of life since 1985. A former substance use technician who put down the bottle and picked up a pen is now writing books for general amusement. He's still into women, motorcycles, cars, and wasting time.
The lonely tumbleweed of the southwest currently lives in Albuquerque, NM and is as desperate as the desert is for water. If he's not hustling to get by you can find him throwing dice, sitting in a coffee shop, cruising motorcycles or finding some place quiet to write. He rides in the back of an ambulance going around the city. His favorite flavor is peanut butter.
He hopes his words tear through you and infect your soul. Let his wave of angst crash into you and bring you to shore. Caress his body in these pages and rub him against your chest--keeping him close to your heart. He's a lush of endless desire and frustrations and hopelessness. Be gentle as you dig through his embers and ashes.
“Maybe someday I can find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but will lack the strength to lift it anymore. Then, I will think to empty the coin from the pot, but will lack the genius to carry out the said act. Later, I will be approached by someone who will ask me about the story of the pot of gold. I will attempt to explain the story to them in the best way that I can.The person might then ask me, “How much of it was true?” and to them I shall respond with a question.“How much do you have believed of it to be of truth and be not farce?” They will ponder over what has been asked of them. They will solemnly look first to the ground, and then to the sky, seeking the divine answer to disarm, or perhaps the answer to their own question. After much time spent rehearsing the question and answer in their head, they will have finally reached the answer.“Half—half of it I believe were true.” They will say to me with complete confidence, and then that confidence will subside assertively into a question. Feeling flustered and unsure of themselves, with their face representing melting wax, they will again look to me for an answer.“Half of it was true then,” I will reply to them with my assertiveness. Puzzled and dumbfounded, the person will ask me, “How was half of it true then?”I will reply to this person in a sincere attempt to gain their confidence and instill wisdom in them.“I cannot tell you what is right or wrong, only what I think is right or wrong. If you believe that half were true, then half were true. If you believe that all of it lies in truth, then all of it were divinely true. If you find that it is absurd and could not share any truth, then there be no truth in the matter. It is your perception that has brought you to your conclusion, not mine. For clearly, if you are thinking about what be true and what be not true, then I have done my job in giving you something to think about, but I cannot think or decide for you.”
“When I think about the past and how blind I was in that life, I compare it to being a god and losing everything when being cast out. I had the unlimited power to destroy myself and everything around me. It’s like having been in a cave for years and I’m finally out of the cave. The sun burns my eyes and skin. I don’t recognize my surroundings. No one looks authentic, and now I’m on the hunt for people that have the pieces to my puzzle that will help me on my quest. I have no cave to hide in, and I’m just left with the sediment of a previous life and my own mortality.”
“I used to fear things like not having enough alcohol and drugs, or the money to get them. Now I fear someone holding me down and physically forcing me to take drugs and drink alcohol. I fear that for some reason I wouldn't be allowed or wouldn't be able to read anymore.”
“Truly, the better a person you are, or become, the harder life becomes. No longer are you omnipotent, but are made flaccid. You are exposed to the horrors of the world. I decree that it is harder to live than to die, but sacred are the few whom have chosen to live. The uneducated man possesses the aptitude to destroy his surroundings. It isn’t until you are educated in both realms that you stop living for yourself. We must wear the hearts of our opponents on our sleeves in order to be worthy of the pride we wear on our shoulders. Victories against other flesh are only victories when not worn as trophies. Always remember—the futility of man is only surpassed by its greatness.”