The Seven Deadly Sins Page 2

  Sure, the seven deadly sins can induce pain and malevolence in the best of us. They can overwhelm the greatest minds and the most stoic souls. But they can also empower and influence you to do incredible things at pivotal moments in your life. To say these things are mortal weapons that bend us all into the worst scum in humanity is an outright travesty. We all experience these feelings. We all struggle to maintain civility in a savage world. But there are times when it is our right as people to let these “sins” wash over us like a warm Caribbean wave. There are times when I say we, as a species, should just out and out revel in the sensations that these “sins” predicate. We are human fucking beings, for Christ’s sake: We are not perfect. It is in our peculiarities where we find our character and individuality. Personally, I do not know if I could trust a person who does not have some grit left over from his or her past. We are defined by our dignity to rise above debasement; we are certainly better people for doing so.

  They say “let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” That is exactly my point. Not only are we all guilty of just being ourselves, we were never guilty in the first place. The only problem comes when we become caricatures of these deadly whims, like the politician who extols family values yet is forced to resign because of a dirty little fuckfest with a hooker in a truck stop bathroom, or the movie star who believes himself above the great unwashed just because his cheek bones are pronounced and angular. These people are not sinners: They are just shitty people.

  I am not selling salvation here, but I am preaching moderation. Some of you motherfuckers are indeed crazy. I have no qualms on pointing out the obvious. So what if you like to fuck? Who cares if you enjoy actually having money, or love to eat, or are impassioned, or use your covetous nature to push yourself to new heights? Who gives a shit if all you want to do on your only day off is lay in bed and fucking sleep? Or if you think you are the sexiest prick on the planet?

  Who cares? That is none of my business. It is yours. If you can live with it and you are not hurting anyone else, frankly I applaud you. At least you are not touting some doomed party line about the expressway to heaven. The whole reason for these supposed sins is really about control.

  Think about this: A thousand years ago, the aristocracy wrapped themselves in so much excess that they should have burned here on Earth, but because they were royalty, they were considered ordained by God. There were no accusations of depravity leveled at them. In fact, the only time they were circumspect was when they killed one of their own. If they were given a theocratic pass just because of their birthright, what, in these modern times, makes it any more different for us? Sure, on one hand that sort of logic is a great reflection of medieval ignorance. And yet it would mark the very definition of America’s founding principles: We are all equal. So one man’s sin is another man’s indulgence. Blue bloods glut themselves every day on the wants and needs of the upper crust. So when those of us in the middle or at the bottom do it, why should we burn in the house of the Christian boogeyman? Why should we be condemned for weekend indulgences that are just another Monday for the echelons of wealth?

  So I say, “no more.” Not now, not ever. I say covet the good life with every fiber. Cherish the spirits that make you feel flush and alive. Laze the days you are not devoted to keeping your family afloat financially. Get while you can, for tomorrow it may be against the law. Throw caution to the wind and free yourself of superstitious shackles. Believe if you want, but practice what you want. The days of fear are over and there is no turning back.

  This book is a few parts flight, a handful of fancy, and a lot of why there is such a thing as freedom of the soul. We are vessels of profound depth when we have an inkling about why we are here. So why should we be saddled with inferred differences when we all feel the same? Just because we think something does not really make it a sin. Just because we want something, doing so does not make us sinful. Just because we feel, it does not make us sinners. There is real vitality in letting yourself indulge in what life has to offer. Quicken your spirit and you might just save your soul. Okay, maybe I am offering a hint of salvation after all.

  There is, of course, also nothing wrong with depriving yourself of sins. But too many people put themselves on a pedestal for denying themselves simple things. Please, be pious on your own time: We’re all alive in here.

  Maybe with this book, you can figure some things out. Most likely, it will just help me work out some serious shit from my own life. I may be a fuck, but I am not an absolute fuck. Sure, I have done some things I am not proud of, but I would not call them sins—I would call them mistakes. You are not allowed to learn from sins because they are held against you for the rest of your life. That is, unless you are Catholic. Confession is like the fine print in an airtight contract, and I am sure most of the faithful envy you.

  Mistakes? Well, hell, we all make mistakes. And what’s more, we are expected to learn from them. It is part of our journey. It is how we move from innocence to resounding wisdom. It is how we keep from retaining a fucking baby’s psyche well into our nineties. It is how everyone keeps from shitting themselves in public and on each other. It is our ever-learning, ever-adapting GPS for this thing called life.

  Let me give you an example. At one of the several mundane jobs I held down before I became “The Artist Known as Corey Fucking Taylor,” I had unbelievable access to all the resources and wealth that were held therein and took every opportunity to fleece the coffers by using my position and my knowledge of their security systems to do so. It was so easy to steal from this place that even the managers were doing it. So I joined in, not because I am inherently wanton but because I was fucking broke and I made less than jack shit. Now, I had not stolen anything in years. I had gone through my “shoplifting” phase when I was thirteen, and it was run-of-the-mill stuff like candy bars and Playboy magazines. So it was a novel sensation to skim tills, steal merchandise, and have sex in my place of business. To put it another way, I basically became the Caligula of the graveyard shift. I was a total scumbag: I stole more money in one night than I actually made in one week. I had orgies in the backrooms. And I walked away with thousands in retail products. But the real reason I did it was because I could. Is that a good reason? Not at all.

  To this day, it makes me sick to think about it. It was a period in my life that I look back on in shame. It should not have mattered if everyone was doing it or if the people who owned the store might have deserved it because they were crooked as fuck, keeping hundreds of thousands of dollars off the books while paying us serfs like newsies. I have always been vehemently against theft, but there I was, robbing people blind and not giving a shit what the consequences were. I took advantage of a system I was entrusted to maintain, and I squandered it on avarice and greed. When it was over, I never stole another thing again. I do not take pride in that fact; I just know my boundaries and that is one I have vowed never to cross. But in retrospect, if I had not gone that far in the first place, who is to say I would feel that way now? If I had not done these things, who is to say I would be as indignant about it today? So the misguided acts of my past have brought me to the virtues of my present and will hopefully lead me to the grace of my future. But I do not consider them “sins.” I consider them mistakes, capriciousness in the face of youthful abandon. I found my moral limit because I crossed my own line and did not feel good about it.

  No one can hold me accountable. That is a job for my conscience and my soul. I am the only judge of what I am capable of, because who really knows me but me? Who really understands the road I have traveled if they can’t even find it on a map? The difference between knowing yourself and trusting yourself is minute, but its repercussions are infinite. Now a lot of the devout will refute that by saying He knows you better than you know yourself. Yeah, that is great and all, but seeing as I have never seen any proof of his existence besides the nihilistic ramblings of billions of followers, I will take my chances with myself, thank you very much. Like I said, n
obody knows me better than myself, and I learn from my mistakes.

  Can you imagine how boring life would be without the seven little spices? You talk about sloth, but why would men and women get out of bed if there were no lust? Why would people want to be in a band if they couldn’t feel the rush that rage brings to the musical table? Why would anyone want to be a bleeding heart without even a hint of greed in their dirty little soul? Why would the world go round if there weren’t a few rules to break? A few revolutions to make? Let’s put it this way: Why would you want to take a deep breath if you were expected to hold the damn thing?

  Sure, I am making a case for the defendants, but then again most petty sins are simply excuses to buck the system and feel alive. Why have free will if you cannot put a few miles on it first? It is like comparing felonies and misdemeanors: Stealing candy is not the same as murder, and lust does not always mean rape. It is important to remember these distinctions before we go any further. If you can’t, you will never get my humor and you will always think I look fat in this skirt. Damn, there’s my vanity coming out again.

  Oh, who am I kidding? I could just be looking for any excuse to be a lecherous mook. That is half the fun, right? Remember when you were a kid and you would try any improbable excuse to get out of trouble? That could very much be the case here. I do not want to be saved; I just do not want to burn. I mean, I am a cynic, but I am not an idiot. I could be way off in my assumption that there are no pearly penthouses in the sky, no vengeful angels waiting to smack me around with their halos to shake the excess rust off of my bones. What do I know? I do know this: If there are loopholes in the laws this year or the next, I am jumping through with both boots because life is not supposed to be fucking dull. We are walking, talking, breathing reasons for beating the odds, and I do not believe after all of that we were meant to spend this miracle mastering the art of knitting. Unless, of course, you really like knitting.

  I do know it does not take a sinner to sin. It does not take a Doubting Thomas to feel guilty. We are all cut from the same cloth and we all have bouts of insanity. But are these not just the rapturous whims of our enamored skins? I defy anyone, from Gandhi to Gallagher, to show me they are not susceptible to pleasure on any level, whether it is a chocolate bar or an orgy at a swingers’ club. “Sin” is so ingrained into our culture that we are all capable, and culpable. Our very universe, when it is not expanding to make room for better, newer ideas, thrives on that which we cannot or should not have. So if you can afford the down payment, why should you not exploit it? If you still have the stamina, why should you not attain it?

  The Haves and the Have-Nots have been doing bloody battle for aeons. The class system has been a part of our lives since the day we started washing our loincloths. Is that not a part of this whole thing as well? If you are a little better off, you can turn your nose up at the masses and say they are where they are because they didn’t try hard enough, that the sin of the poor is sloth and envy because they long for what we have and are not willing to sacrifice for the bounty that life can provide. If you are on the other side of the tracks, you can ball your fists up and say that the bourgeoisie were handed their wealth, that they are sinners on every level—greed, gluttony, lust, vanity—across the board.

  Morals and superstition have controlled the best of us for centuries. They have also allowed intelligent minds to give credit to deities that may or may not exist for human advances and victories for much longer than I have been alive. So the dark side of the lucky penny becomes the hidden agendas of the egocentric. Sure, you will cure cancer in the name of God’s will, but if you want to be a decadent pig, you are on your own. Why should you not fuck for God? Why should you not attack a Vegas buffet for Jehovah? Double standards are too frequent, and no one is making a case for the defense.

  Besides, where is the fun in being a zealot? Taking yourself too seriously gets you seriously fucked up. Zealots are the first to point fingers and the last to take responsibility. They will lead from the rear and survive by running away just so they can infect some other group who do not know any better. I want to be very clear: I have no idea what I am going to say next. My point is to make people think so they will not blindly agree with everything I say. The difference between a philosopher and a fanatic is about as thin as the profit margin at a casino, but at the end of the day it is very clear. A philosopher thinks out loud to make things better for everyone else. Fanatics make themselves louder because they think they are better than everyone else.

  All I am saying is that there have to be choices. You live once, for all we know. You are given this gift of flesh and sentient thought, and you want to hole up in a cave your whole life? What about adventure? What about excitement? What about rewriting the rulebook to concur with a society that doesn’t believe in fairy tales? The constitution of the United States is occasionally amended to reflect the mood of the people, but it is staunchly defended as well. So why not look at the facts, not the fables? The seven deadly sins—being greed, gluttony, lust, pride, wrath, envy, and sloth—should be changed to the seven petty sins. They are outdated and hardly deadly—barely PG-13 in this decade. What about murder? What about theft, embezzlement, and Ponzi schemes? You do not have to steal to be greedy, but you do not have to be greedy to steal. That may seem redundant, but take a second and think about it. It will make a sense too terrible to let go.

  The time has come for a spiritual reshuffling, a kind of esoteric game of bingo. We can make a world based on common sense if we really wanted to, but we do not. That is a sin in and of itself: We have the intelligence and wherewithal to build a better mousetrap, but we are all very happy to run the game by the old rules. When punishment gets good to you, the time may be overdue to reevaluate the allegiance you place in your guides. That’s like ending up addicted to Ben Gay because you are used to being on your knees.

  Make mine life. I would rather see people enjoying themselves than the few controlling the many. The status quo has always been to ignore and pray that things just naturally work out. I would rather see my generation realize its own potential than see it slowly warp itself in the design of the one that preceded it. Most would rather have you toe the party line than think outside the box. So much for self-sufficient concepts: Satisfaction should always come at a cost, but the payoff should manifest almost instantaneously.

  But I have hope. And at the end of it all, that is what this book is all about. Hope that people can stop holding themselves back even slightly and start realizing potential they never dreamed existed. Hope that people can stop carrying the bricks of guilt and self-disgust and use them to build a foundation on their own morals, not someone else’s expectations. The strong from the past always plant the seeds of the future. We have great reserves of good in us, and I have seen them firsthand. Ancient bylaws and tomfoolery have warped the way toward a life that makes more sense and less enemies. I want this book to make you decide whether or not your supposed sins are even worth holding onto rather than just using them as excuses to appear kind when someone important is watching.

  This book is also about the fun you can have when you stop holding yourself back. It is a look at a life that could have gone horribly wrong, and yet with the right head on its tattooed shoulders, it took the right way toward a better way—know what I’m saying? I could have become something to despise. Instead, I found a way to be more than anyone expected, and I did it on my terms. But I had some serious fun along the way because I never limited myself. Never. I live at the speed of my mind, and I love with the strength of my heart. I am happier than I have ever been. But only because I know where I have been.

  You can push the boundaries as far as you want if you know where the state line is. We sometimes forget that time is on our side—not blocking for the other team. I have nothing against God, but it is not because I am a believer. It is mainly because I have never met him, and based on his track record, I do not need to.

  If God does exist, and I am not saying he do
es, but if he does, he is like a football team with a .500 record. Sometimes he gets it right and sometimes he doesn’t. I have to be honest: Even Ms. Cleo had better stats than that and she had her own commercial. Before you say “sure, he does,” the fucking crystal cross one does not count. Putting the Lord’s Prayer inside it like some holymoley View Master is not cool; it is just plain creepy. Those are the same people who sell you movable smokeless fireplaces made by the Amish. Yeah, like we believe that con for a red-hot minute.

  This is the first step toward letting go of mythological rules and grabbing onto one another, human being to fucking human being, Hands Across America–style to reach the next damn step in evolution. I say we should leave behind our tiny gods and their baselines for “their” expectations. I say we drop our old bags in the garbage and buy new shit at the airport. We should be escaping the plastic pubis of the deities we create and seeking new employ through a metaphysical Craig’s List search. Stop the presses: Earth just realized it could do what it wants. Let me ask you: If you were God and you could have and do anything with just a thought, why would you hang onto this experimental ant farm any longer than it takes to turn your head to build another one? We are not puppets of papists. We are not extras in Jehovah’s student fucking film. We are a race of people trying to find answers, and to me, religion is kind of like last year’s textbooks: out of date with too many notes in the margins from the last fucking guy.