We’re here to bring ourselves back from the dead. Here to make ourselves feel alive through chemical means.
We’re here to bring ourselves back from the brink or take ourselves to the brink, one of the two.
Drink is the question. Drink is the answer. Both at once.
Drinking makes me feel witty.
You’ve never been witty, only puerile.
Remember who you are.
Who am I?
A child of shit. A creature of the ruins. The last kind, the most revolting kind. Some kind of human worm. Or slug.
Let’s drink to that. Let’s drink to everything. I’m feeling very expansive, with my drinking.
Let’s drink for every living being on this planet. Every sentience. And the rocks, too, if you believe in panpsychism.
To hope that everyone can be drunk. That we all participate in world-drunkenness. In world reeling. In world ecstasy.
Drink is the answer, probably. Or is it the question?
Stop being so clever. I despise clever.
Our heads are expanding. The world’s expanding. We’re in expansive mode. We’re in world liberation mode. We’re in taking our heads off mode.
Let’s never be sober again!
He’s dying of, like, penile cancer. She’s dying of vaginal cancer. Can you die of that? Cancer of the cock? Cancer of the cunt?
The night, cresting. The night, roaring around us.
Happy drunks. Everyone drinking, and involved each other’s drinking. Everyone up. Everyone happy. And supportive of each other’s drinking. Nurturing each other’s drinking.
Work in Progress 