Posts Tagged 'alcohol'

Hungover Sundays: Why?

I went through a phase/am going through a phase/stopped caring about this phase where I can’t bring myself not to drink just for one single night. I can’t explain why. Sometimes I tell myself for the creativity, sometimes I tell myself for the social aspect of it… But then under whichever category the night falls, I don’t see myself working towards the goal.

I think back to when I saw 99 Francs in France, the month I’d arrived there… I’d just taken a random train and ended up in Avignon, and saw this movie. I never thought twice about it, I was just trying to be adventurous. Now, I imagine myself taking a similar trip, and the whole time I just know I’ll be thinking about what could come out of it, why I’m taking it, what I’m hoping will come of it.  And the irony (though unrelated): the thought of buying a beer never even crossed my mind as I sipped Perrier in a dark bar that was ready to get rid of me and dance.

Can people truly be more complex than others, is that possible? We all come from the same genetic genres. Perhaps it’s just what you’re exposed to as you’re melded. Complexity, or do I just simply overanalyze everything? If life is the journey to finally understand one’s self, why do I sense that I’d be able to figure shit out a whole lot better if I were almost anyone else? I just don’t see the rationality in it. I want to write, I want to make music, I want to paint, I want to love. I want it all yet can’t succeed in one true field of expertise. How does this work? I see my figure slowly fading away from optimal bodybuilder/sexy dude to doesn’t-give-a-shit/drink-every-night dude, and I can’t figure out if I care or not. Why does Bukowski click so well with how I see myself? An alcoholic knowing he’s a writer, struggling to get his shit accomplished with who he knows he is–so complex, yet so goddamn simple! To what regard did he see himself? Was he as simple as his words?

I see myself drinking just for the sake of it (as Charlie B says, there’s nothing else to do—though I do it even if I have something else to do, and do it during), and I start to realize that it may be to dumb down my nerves, to shut my brain off a bit so I can just relax and do whatever I’m doing WITHOUT analyzing every little aspect of it.. Is curse too strong a word? I don’t want to get all Dostoevsky up in here.

That being said, I need a cigarette. Probably for the physical addiction I can’t escape, but quite possibly just because I want to get up and talk to the cutie outside the coffeeshop (sorry, to get up and look and think about talking to the cutie outside the coffeeshop). Hot damn.

Oh, yeah. So in my “excited about this new blog/website I’m starting” phase, I’m going to have little themed days of the week going in tune with what I write: Hungover Sundays with mornings of reflections or stories of the night before, Mixtape Mondays with new music I’ve discovered over the week (still working this one out, it may not be so frequent), Stoner Chronicles with my stories of travel & marijuana, maybe a new graphic day, and some other ones whenever I figure it out.

Damn, she left.


Hungover Sundays: 12 Bottles of Chuck Shaw

I am a hungover piece of shit. I tried. I fell back asleep. I dreamt of my little pink notebook that received text messages wherever there was open space, until there was no more room…

Then you could never receive another text message.

I have a horrible amount of homework to do.

I miss the heroin who’d actually discovered the road until morning.

I am drinking strong coffee out of a little espresso cup.

I think she misses me too.

I am creating words. On a paper that is on a screen that can print out to real paper if I wanted to spend the ten cents at the school library.

This coffee is actually quite tasty.

Alex and Alina and Fahad are supposed to come over to get their shit they left behind when they left me behind last night. I will make them clean.

I think maybe I will go print this, to prove to myself something that my subconscious is trying to tell me.

I REALLY miss her… She who found the second star to the right. She’s worth a few hundred dollars extra. She needs to take her job a little less seriously. I can’t believe what my mom said about that whole movie idea: hippy, executive: what the fuck brings two together so well?

Ah, fuck. They’re here.

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Another twenty some odd young adult who believes he sees things from a unique perspective. Here be my poetry & prose, short stories, favored school papers, rantings, and "blogs." Comment, critique, and profit.