This is serious drinking, postgraduates. Nothing frivolous here. Another bottle of wine that we have to finish. It’s our duty to see where it leads. To see where it takes us.
Because there’s somewhere we have to be taken. We have to get out of ourselves. Out of our heads. Our heads are confining us. They’re turning us inwards. Whereas drink turns us outward …
Are we drinking too much, postgraduates? But there’s only drinking too much. That’s the only acceptable way of drinking.
Those Organisational Management fuckers. Do you think they know how to drink? They can do everything but drink. Because drinking’s not about what you can do. It doesn’t concern what you can do.
Drinking’s a giving up. A throwing in of the towel. An admission of defeat. You have to have been terribly defeated, if you’re going to drink.
Really our drunkenness is an attunement. To how things are. Really, it’s a receptivity. Really, our drunkenness is a satellite dish, turned to receive signals from the sky.
Drinking deeper, postgraduates. Drinking all the way down. Drinking into the Urgrund and the Abgrund. Drinking into the abyss, and deeper than the abyss. Drinking-falling, down into our groundlessness. Plunging into our groundlessness.
To drink until we pass out, that’s the aim, postgraduates. That’s always the aim. Until we lie, unconscious. Because we don’t need to be conscious. We should relinquish our consciousness. There’s no reason to stay awake in this world.
There’s no saving us, postgraduates. We can’t save ourselves. We’re lost. Ruined. And only deepening our dereliction. We’re only furthering our loss of all true things.
This is a wake for our hopes, postgraduates. This is a wake for the ruination of our hopes. We’re staying up all night to mourn their ruination. To celebrate it, too. We’re more lucid than before. We see things better than before.
We disappoint ourselves, without alcohol. We bore ourselves. We’re not the people we should be, sober. We don’t rise. We don’t look upwards. We don’t aspire.
That’s what’s this tower is called: Aspire.
We’re drinking ourselves to death – no doubt. But what other choice is there other than drink ourselves to death? It’s a creative suicide. It’s our own way of dying, which is to say, living.
We depend too much on alcohol, of course we do! It isn’t good for us, all this alcohol! But we need a route out of ourselves. We need a way out. We can’t get there all by ourselves. We can’t get there sober.
A reprieve: that’s why we drink. We want a temporary cessation. A laying down of arms. Simply, time … Time out. A minute’s peace. A gap in the world’s being the world.
Sometimes you have to step through the drunken looking glass. Through the drunken mirror. Into the drunken inverted world.
We’re drunkenly bewildered. But bewilderment is understanding, on another plane. Drunkenly lost. But loss is also finding, on another plane. Drunkenly rambling. But rambling is always precision, on another plane.
Spouting drunken obscenities. But obscenities are the sweetest poetry on another plane. Drunken lamentation. But our laments are celebrations, on another plane.
What looks like our self-destruction is really self-preservation. What looks like sinking is really elevation. What looks like collapse is really rising.
In another dimension, we’re sober. We’re upstanding. We ‘re the most lucid people you’ve ever met. In another dimension, it all makes sense, just as nothing makes sense here.
We’re serious drinkers. Our seriousness lies in our drinking. In the way we drink. In the seriousness of our drinking. In the concentratedness of our drinking. In its focus.
Work in Progress 