The time of the great drinkers has passed. There’s no wisdom to drink. No special drunken insight. That’s all played out. There’s no truth in drinking, after all. No veritas in vino. Culture hero alkies are just pure tedium now.
And depression has become – tedious. There are no fresh revelations that the world is shit. No variations. No twists. It’s all been done. It’s played out. Things remain as always were. Except worse, probably.
The drugs don’t work, not anymore. The highs aren’t available. Just some … mechanical excitement. Just some predictable freneticism. But nothing is revealed, not anymore.
Work in Progress 