today begin detox/ intake: 525mg cod liver oil with evening primrose; 1 sachet natural-life detox remedy; 1 multivitamin; 1 flaxseed tablet; 5 litres volvic mineral water/ feel great/ plus following a jo malone/ olay anti-aging formula/

my dalliance with alcohol is at an end/ apparently 50 units a week constitutes alcoholism/at one point i was consuming 50 unit a day/ my intake of thursday: 35cls brandy (14 units), 6 cans k (25.2 units) and a very large bag of very strong heroin/ daily total: 39.2 units/ yesterday i would consider extremely mild: 2 small glasses of house red (prob. 1 and a tad units) and 3 cans k (12.6 units) (14.6 units)/

bugger thee/ evening nice/ intake: 2 glasses wine at lunch and three cans of k this even, atop one of each/ i did not enjoy the white at all/ in fact, my current slovenly stage is becoming a bit drag so i'm going to return to my metro-sexual manifestation/ i've a plethora jo malone products (several hundred pounds worth) and have been using cleansing milk and moisturizing/ my beautiful body's been buried beneath a bilious bulk of booze-drenched flesh, sporadic and extreme recognition of which has begun to deliver vile blows to my delicate, grandiose ego/

how patterns repeat themselves/ the bitch feels indignant at her parents unpunctuality/ and what does she practice?/....

the idea of perfection is absurd/ striving for it is, in a sense, laudable and will yield profitable results (whilst one cannot reach it, striving thereto will produce work of some degree of quality)/ but i sadden/ i have been a shameless perfectionist and waster by turns/ i found waster a more comfortable instantiation of myself, though doing nothing is certainly no easy task/ it requires an enormous amount of application/earlier today i considered applying myself/ i have a natural love of literature and reading over some of my old work speculated it could have been far better/ far far better/ i concede there is some merit in some of my past efforts/ however i could do, indeed could have done, so much better/ and so i shall/ attaining a first in philosophy required some degree of application initially, but once i'd 'broken the back of it' i found acute pleasure in reading hegel, platon et al/ an understanding of form is essential/ i loathe those who simply write poetry in a vague imitation of what they've read/ mastering form is a great part of the joy of learning and practicing literature or poetry/and thus i shall work at mastering the craft, if such a phrase means anything...

the craft of verse/ all writing requires an enormous amount of work/ reading over some old work of mine i felt acute embarrassment at how flabby it was/ content and execution were ok/ it displayed promise/ but oh how much better crafted it could have been/ erudition is something i've always thought important/ after all reading alot gives one an 'intuitive' grasp of structure and a decent bank balance of words/ ironically literary thrift is predicated on a large stock of words/ i cannot be bothered to unpack this statement but those whom i want to understand it should/ so, word craft/ alot of work/ i was just reading an award winning writer's blog and was not only unimpressed but embarrassed/ it was truly appalling/ but one (i) must not fall into complacency just because the competition isn't much/ one must perfect for the sake of art itself/ but this statement is absurd because there is great literature out there/ maybe nothing is currently being produced, but there is great stuff in print/ anthony burgess i admire enormously/ hubert selby jr too/ i've read quite a few great books/ i'm simply put off by pretty much everything i read on the net/ of course this is one of the main arguments against giving everyone a voice/ when one could only be printed through (predominantly) a publishing house there was at least some degree of selectivity/ clearly certain genres attract a lower class of writer but one could at least have some system of avoidance/ but when the little man is given a voice the flood gates open and forth spills the most unmitigated sea of shit/i'm acutely aware that i've a fucking pilgrimage of no mean length to make before my writing is even passable/ but this doesn't mean i cannot make valid criticisms of other shit/ i tried one online writing community but the individuals you encounter there are so highly strung that their criticism is never constructive/

projected intake for the evening: 6 500ml cans stella and 20cls whiskey/ one must be kind to one's body/ i'll be as sick as a swine-hund come thursday morning so must contrive a way to get at least one bag/ the sickness just creeps up on you/ blissful evening follows blissful evening and before you know it you wake up sick: cramps, agonising brightness, listlessness, pain/ it's fucking unfair/ why should man not be allowed bliss without such a vile cost?/ such bliss is what one deserves?/ why should everything have a price?/ it's just not fucking fair/ after 40cls brandy and a couple of bags of 'primo shit' one feels absolutely exquisite/ one sinks into what ever rags break one's fall and drifts into delightful oblivion/

i must learn to deal with my anger issues and not waste any more of my life/ i feel trapped by my dysfunctions/ what can i do?/ i've tried counseling but to only slight avail/ the impact was mild/ but perhaps i didn't persevere for long enough/ i was, after all, attempting to reverse a very long trend/i should therefore try again/ i found anti-depressants to be the most effective treatment/ citalopram, which enhances serotonin production, i found the best/ indeed when i take ecstasy the petty jealousies and hang ups i harbor, and which eat away at me, disappear/ thus the types of thoughts i obsess about are determined by the lack of a certain chemical/so i am wasting my life not taking this drug/ i remember the vast improvements in my mental and physical health when i was taking citalopram/ the period i was living at home with my parents after a particular incident with the albatross was the happiest of my life/ all the horrible mental torments i exert on myself disappeared/

feeling ok/ see below for yesterday's intake/ woke sick this morning but methadone is doing it's work/ sipping kenyan and typing/ almost finished enderby, which i've rather enjoyed/ sex drive has returned recently to the point i feel i might explode/ it's very pleasant/ am considering a return to a healthier regime/ last summer, whilst i was caining it, i was a picture of health: tanned, slim and fit/ i'm now over weight (one consequence of a years heavy drinking) and whilst not unfit, i could be alot better/ the reduction in my methadone dose bought on, in part, my heavy drinking/ and, as with anything else, one's tolerance increases and one gets so used to whatever one does with any degree of regularity one forgets 'things' were (or could be) any other way/ e.g. i cannot imagine drinking any less than 16 units a night/ rarely these days do i over do it and clock in at 50 plus, but my mean is around the 25/30 unit mark/ the most noticeable consequence of this excess is my weight/ i'm 6ft exactly (183 cms) and went from a very respectable 12 stone to an enormous 15 stone/ i barely eat (twice a day and very healthy food too) so the drink must be to blame/ moreover i did used to cycle alot/ i replaced cycling, for a period, with walking (about 5 miles/day) but this has recently ceased/i only speculate thus because i miss being fit/ to be desired is a wonderful thing and, for some reason, i've been feeling acutely undesirable of late/ my weight is the main cause/ rather my depression is the main cause and my weight a tangible corollary/ my usually unshakable self-belief has, of late, been severely shaken/ and i don't like it/ alcohol is a depressant, so i'm sure makes it's contribution/ also withdrawal causes depression, as do depressing states of affairs (various issues between the albatross and i)/ thus i've many reasons to be depressed/but luckily i have interests and am resourceful enough to avoid spending my days in an inert funk/ my spells of vile and sordid speculation are confined to those moments when i lie bedridden with a hangover in the early hours of the morn/

nothing changes with the old self, and that's why i love the old self/ intake: 60cls brandy and 2 bags heroin/ and i?/ fucked!/ divine/ always works/

reasonably feeling, ok?/ last night intook 1.75 ltrs wine (12%) and nothing else/ also got laid and had plenty of water the night through, thus woke feeling passable/ just polished off an excellent breakfast of eggs, kenyan coffee and fruit and therefore feel pretty good/ continuing 'enderby' and yesterday secured mach.'s prince by the old means/ off to north soon for the essentials/ will write at length later as have things to do/ leytuz...