for an alcoholic read 'i woke up in a good frame of mind' as 'i woke up with a more tolerable hangover and was not plagued by ruinous thoughts'/ today such was my state upon waking/ since receiving payment for some rather dour pieces of marketing dross i have been able to leave the white star alone and invest in tall, slim, luminous, delightfully frosted bottles of stella and fifths of whiskey with supine, archly curved necks and reassuring scots names/ clearly less poisonous poisons i can now look forward to waking in a reasonably good frame of mind/ radio III are running a chopin weekend so i have shelved my plans to go out this eve and shall instead spend it glued to the radion/ platon anyone?/ hmm...well, as per at this o'clock sippin' cafe, black of course, and listening etudes par schopan/ his music gets about as close to divinity as anyone has come/ it trickles like slow, unctuous liquid down ones spine, dances like a flickering star across ones front brain/ i am also taken with seizures in the right plot of my frame, gripping my fist and striking my thigh in sweet despair and disbelief/ the beauty of his music cuts through the cloudy usual so sharply it is like lightening and stuns and upsets one similarly/ by comparison the world seems even less satisfying/ and now to leave you with two quotes of the same sentiment:
He that has light within his own clear breast
May sit i' the centre, and enjoy bright day:
But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun;
Himself is his own dungeon.
Milton
It is the mind that maketh good or ill,
That maketh wretch or happie, rich or poore.
Spencer
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