mad drunk genius

I used to have all sorts of problems. Now there's just the one.

Tag: whiskey

Ninety percent of self-control is having something to get up for in the morning

June 2, 2016
Being an asshole is like halitosis.

——Your essence projects farther than your breath.
Learning who not to date is like riding a bike
& people’s advice only matters so much.
——Politics is joining people you can stand
——to stop the people you cant.
Franchise restaurants seem like safe bets till
you eat at one.
——I dont know when I got antisocial.

June 11, 2016
The politics of spite & purity mean you’re OK to hate
something without further examination, but any support
will be torn apart if it isnt perfect.
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It doesnt have to be genius to be good or appreciable

Generosity is always most generous to yr ego.
——’For those of you wondering what to do,
——just do it.’
‘Sing it & sing it, and that’s how we do it.’
——I’m part of the problem, of course!
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My memory is a lash

——’I can still feel my face so
——I’ll take another double.’
It’s plenty to see green things
curl & unfurl in fractal ecstasy
——My beer hand wasnt as cold as
——my cigarette hand, somehow.
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‘I dont want to mess you up if yr on a roll’ / ‘I dont have anything’

I dont know. I want to write something with purpose, something with a structure that can have some sort of message or at least plot. And  I cant even do that currently. Not even close, even.

What’s happened?

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Weak acid is a persistent chubby for yr whole existence.

‘It’s my birthday. Isnt it my birthday?’
——Bars exist to help give strangers a place to gather till they get
——just drunk enough not to care no one knows them.
‘I’m glad I got that off my chest,’ the scat fetishist said.
‘Whiskey neat is like [a novel]. It’s a process. There’s a beginning, a middle & an end.’
——A very cleansing poop, the soothsayer says.
‘It’s my birthdaaaaaay,’ she says, standing on the seat, cushioned.
——Ginger Falcon Punch to the face.
The brown-noser. The bookworm. The hippie.
——Weak acid is a persistent chubby for yr whole existence.
‘Nice sweater, bitch.’
——’You’re rad. Taste my weiner sauce.’
‘It’s my birthday in 11 — no, in 43 minutes.’
——It’s the power of art that someone often first relates their life
——events to some fictional happening.
Most of what happens to everyone else is fictitious, but so is
everything that happens to you.

All coffee & whiskey & goddamn

I’m sick of spending all of time thinking about & telling myself I’m going to write something, then not.

I’m sick of wanting to be everywhere else that I ‘m not, and telling myself that if only, if only I had more time, or if only I werent spending so much of it with a girl or at a particular job, I’d be so much more creative & wonderful & live up to all of those expectations I have & others have for me.

But here I sit at a bar, drinking way too much, having drunk way too much already, with a job interview in the morning & more to memorize after that, and none of it fucking matters because I’m not FULFILLING MY TRUE PURPOSE, whatever that means.

(Hello double well-whiskey neat.)

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Does the five second rule apply to Jesus?

I want to tell the truth unfettered.

‘It’s not what it starts as but it ends as,’ he laughs & nudges.
——We brace our teeth before they rot & crack. So too ourselves. I dont think; I am.
Adolescent male experience is conspiring to fool a boy into taking his dick out of his pants in the dark to jerk off alone on a cookie so that you can then turn the lights on & call him a faggot.
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Sober hallucinations are the strangest

I had this same thing sketched out on one of my favorite notebooks, but it was one of the big reporter’s notebooks, so it fell out of my pocket at some point, and I never noticed it till day’s end, and it was lost.

But it was about a strange thing, to hallucinate while not high or drunk.

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I hate getting a little bit drunk on the West Coast.

Because I get a bit buzzed and the thirst, you know, the real drinker’s yen inflames inside me and I look over at the clock and say, ‘God, it’s only 12:30 a.m. I could make a bar run and drink an hour, easy.’

When really I’ve got no money and nothing good will happen to me, but I’ll be alive and have fun and do things other than sit at a computer and drink beer which does nothing except makes me fat and slow. I’ll have whiskey! And whiskey will get me up and screaming laughing clapping in no time at all.

I mean, jesus. Pacific Time is forever to drink & keep drinking.

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A napkin with scribbles harpooned into yesterday’s bloated corpse

I got very drunk and saw lots of wonderful things, and had many lovely conversations with interesting people or at least had many conversations with interesting snippets and imagery, and wrote so very many down on my napkin that I carried from bar to bar to bar to back ‘home’ as I’m calling it now, and then I lost it, and with it, everything from the night in all its stupid beauty.

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