Our hangovers. What could we have accomplished without them? Who could we have been? What could we have written? If we didn’t drink, what then? If we hadn’t destroyed ourselves last night, what might have we done today?
But we did it on purpose. We did it because we wanted to.
The world that is busyness, compromise. The world that only deepens your entanglement. The world that only destroys your independence. Your integrity. The world that is only a death-plunge, over and again. That only destroys you, over and again.
A crash – each day. A destruction – every day. And ceaselessly. The continual deepening of the crisis.
Which is why we meet the day hungover. Which is why we must make a pre-emptive strike against the ludicrousness of hope.
We’ve numbed ourselves in advance. We’ve made ourselves stupid in advance. Hangover-stupid. Hangover-blank.
Hangover-stupor: our perpetual state. Which means we never really come into focus. Which means we never really catch up with our emails. Which means we never really come to ourselves. That we’re never entirely alive in their world.
Work in Progress 