drunk

I was sprawled out in my usual position on the couch, half asleep but entirely drunk, torturing myself by tearing memories out of my mind at random like matches from a book, striking them one at a time and drowsily setting myself on fire.

I remember only images, snapshots burned into me, bleeding into each other until I no longer knew the order in which they had happen.

Poetry keeps mein a highly drunken stateof divinity.

I have drunk the night and swallowed the stars. I am dancing with abandon and singing with rapture. There is not a thing I do not love. There is not a person I have not forgiven. I feel a universe of love. I feel a universe of light. Tonight, I am with old friends and we are returning home. The moon is our witness.

Each of us is aware he's a material being, subject to the laws of physiology and physics, and that the strength of all our emotions combined cannot counteract those laws. It can only hate them. The eternal belief of lovers and poets in the power of love which is more enduring that death, the finis vitae sed non amoris that has pursued us through the centuries is a lie. But this lie is not ridiculous, it's simply futile. To be a clock on the other hand, measuring the passage of time, one that is smashed and rebuilt over and again, one in whose mechanism despair and love are set in motion by the watchmaker along with the first movements of the cogs. To know one is a repeater of suffering felt ever more deeply as it becomes increasingly comical through a multiple repetitions. To replay human existence - fine. But to replay it in the way a drunk replays a corny tune pushing coins over and over into the jukebox?

Lovecraft says he knows about tentaclesbut that motherfucker never bedded a girl from West Chesterand survivedShe was a toothachethat oneand she tasted like crackthe best thing about her was if I was ever hungryI could always make a meal out of whateverwas making rest at the corners of her mouthI can't remember her nameas is the case with most of themthen again I can't rememberhow many donuts I ate this morningor how many beers I'll drink tonight,tomorrow

Life will hack off your head and shit down your neck every chance it gets. I've found that consuming drugs and booze, listening to music and always having an excuse in the best way to tip the scales.

Could the two people who are making out please be quiet?" the Colonel asked loudly from his sleeping bag. "Those of us who are not making out are drunk and tired.

Oh, I__ Chrissy Mackenzie, I__ from Vancouver but I came here to study environmental journalism,_ the girl exclaimed with way too much enthusiasm. __ou got any advice?___earch me,_ Mandy muttered, spooning another ice cube from the empty glass on the table in front of her. __ like pollution, I write in favor of it, and environmental journalism most often implies that it__ in favor of all that __o green_ hippie crap._ __h, well_._ Chrissy seemed taken aback, offended, and Mandy sighed a fourth time. __amn it, I__ really sorry,_ she apologized, smiling dismally at the aspiring writer. __t__ just been a really lousy day for me and I wasn__ really thinking. My advice? Find your own cause to represent, not one thrown out into society by a ton of environmentalist dopes. Find something new, something you think could be improved, and work from there._ Chrissy smiled with a look of total ecstasy as if the words of some nobody woman were important. Mandy momentarily noticed the groups of laughing, drunk, giggling people, all acting childish_ and for a moment she wished she could be them.

My mind may be sober, but my confidence is high!

And when he got home he started on Mumma. He hated her then, because in her fatness and untidiness and drabness she reminded him of what he himself was when he was sober.

Millions of deaths would not have happened if it weren__ for the consumption of alcohol. The same can be said about millions of births.

Am I making something worth while?I__ not sure.I write and I sing and I hear words from time to time about my life and choices making ways, into other lives, other hearts,but am I making something worth while?I__ not sure.There was a boy last night who I never spoke to because I was too drunk and still shy, but mostly lonely, and I couldn__ find anything lightly to say,so I simply walked awaybut still wondered what he did with his lifebecause he didn__ even speak to meor look at mebut still made me wonder who he wasand I walked away askingAm I making something worth while?I am not sure.I am a complicated person with a simple lifeand I am the reason for everything that ever happened to me.

I am clumsy, drop glasses and get drunk on Monday afternoons. I read Seneca and can recite Shakespeare by heart, but I mess up the laundry, don__ answer my phone and blame the world when something goes wrong. I think I have a dream, but most of the days I__ still sleeping. The grass is cut. It smells like strawberries. Today I finished four books and cleaned my drawers. Do you believe in a God? Can I tell you about Icarus? How he flew too close to the sun?I want to make coming home your favourite part of the day. I want to leave tiny little words lingering in your mind, on nights when you__e far away and can__ sleep. I want to make everything around us beautiful; make small things mean a little more. Make you feel a little more. A little better, a little lighter. The coffee is warm, this cup is yours. I want to be someone you can__ live without.I want to be someone you can__ live without.

After all, as Franco would dictate, everyone was going to lose their money at some point. You may as well do so half drunk and at the mercy of a pretty smile.

I skipped between the dancers, twirling my skirts. The seated, masked musicians didn__ look up at me as I leaped before them, dancing in place. No chains, no boundaries__ust me and the music, dancing and dancing. I wasn__ faerie, but I was a part of this earth, and the earth was a part of me, and I would be content to dance upon it for the rest of my life.One of the musicians looked up from his fiddling, and I halted.Sweat gleamed on the strong column of his neck as he rested his chin upon the dark wood of the fiddle. He__ rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing the cords of muscle along his forearms. He had once mentioned that he would have liked to be a traveling minstrel if not a warrior or a High Lord__ow, hearing him play, I knew he could have made a fortune from it.____ sorry, Tam,_ Lucien panted, appearing from nowhere. __ left her alone for a little at one of the food tables, and when I caught up to her, she was drinking the wine, and___amlin didn__ pause in his playing. His golden hair damp with sweat, he looked marvelously handsome__ven though I couldn__ see most of his face. He gave me a feral smile as I began to dance in place before him. ____l look after her,_ Tamlin murmured above the music, and I glowed, my dancing becoming faster. __o enjoy yourself._ Lucien fled.I shouted over the music, __ don__ need a keeper!_ I wanted to spin and spin and spin.__o, you don__,_ Tamlin said, never once stumbling over his playing. How his bow did dance upon the strings, his fingers sturdy and strong, no signs of those claws that I had come to stop fearing _ __ance, Feyre,_ he whispered.So I did.I was loosened, a top whirling around and around, and I didn__ know who I danced with or what they looked like, only that I had become the music and the fire and the night, and there was nothing that could slow me down.Through it all, Tamlin and his musicians played such joyous music that I didn__ think the world could contain it all. I sashayed over to him, my faerie lord, my protector and warrior, my friend, and danced before him. He grinned at me, and I didn__ break my dancing as he rose from his seat and knelt before me in the grass, offering up a solo on his fiddle to me.

Shame on you. Don't tell me you've been married for an hour and you've already got eyes for another woman.

Why didn't you write all this time?Did you not remember us in a song?A dance?In the skies littered with stars?Did you not get drunk?Why didn__ you write all this time?Did you not remember us in a film?A book?In idyllic dusks and dawns?Did you not get high?It is good that you didn't.For all is well. I am drunk and dazed.I have already forgotten youand your bewitching ways.