There’s a sweetspot of drunkenness you can hit. Where it becomes just improvisation. You can say whatever you want. Extemporizing, infinitely. Taking it where you want to. Fuck.
Where do you want to take it?
I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.
Anyway, God … back to God.
You always want to come back to God.
That’s because God … God … means something. Or nothing. Or nothing that’s something. Or something’s that nothing.
God’s the biggest thing you can say. The greatest thing.
How long are we going to talk like this? Forever? I get tired of it …
One day well reach something. One day, we’ll say something. We’ll find our way there. Where? Wherever it is. Wherever it goes to. What goes to? Our … path …
None of this matters. None of this .. matters. All this talk.
I agree. But we still talk. We talk because time goes on forever. And talk can go on forever, too. All this talk. It’s disgusting in its way. All this time to waste.
Waste is a form of prayer.
Is it?
Deliberately sacrificing time. Giving it up.
To what?
To this.
To being stoned?
Work in Progress 