Posts Tagged 'beer'

Drunk Tuesdays: Distraction

All he wanted to do was write; yet as we all know he couldn’t even begin once it came down to starting out. To tell a story to express what was going on in his life—be it romantic or just plain philosophical; there was always something distracting him. Be it the coldness of his fingers, the headache the cigarette brought to the cheap beer-induced state, or the fact that the new word processing software didn’t automatically double space the text for his own aesthetic pleasure, something was always able to manifest itself into a distraction.

After formatting the paragraph details to match his comfort zone, after the undeniably distracting time spent with social network communication, after deciding viral audio clips would soundtrack the night, and after the insecurity that the burning cigarette fumes would reach from the kitchen to his roommate’s room, he realized after typing a few words to document the events that what he’d decided these actions would become was that the materialization of opening the word process could be the only step he would possibly take towards what he deemed productivity.

He tried not to dwell on his romantic psychological issues that he still refused to acknowledge after the lost perfect night with the perfect lost girl that could satisfy his cravings; he still figured making the most of his Saturday night by consuming some massive amount of alcohol would take his mind off what he believed to truly be bothering him: the absence of sex in life, the absence of romance… Thus equating to the absence of purpose? For so long the coexistence of romance and the mere possibility of sex seemed to be more of a hindrance as it motivated him to change his life, to take pride in what emoted him… Until he realized he needed the sex as powerfully as he necessitated the inspiration to engage in the activities he loved.

A balance was—fuck it, I’m gonna go paint.

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.


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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.