Oooh you're a naughty mess

i drink first
thing, tho' i don't want
to.

my kidneys ache
my brow streams
my chest burns.

i drink second
thing, tho' i don't want
to.

my body relaxes
my muscles grin
my temperature rises.

i drink third
thing, tho' i now want
to.

my throat rejoices
my mouth muscles grin
my brain is lucid.

i drink fourth
thing, tho' i have no
choice.

my body is happy
my aches are no aches
my brain is slippy.

i drink fifth
thing, tho' now i've no
control.

my cells rush with
my other choices
my toxic concomitants.

i drink....
i've lost the point till
i wake up...what?

ending...

hm but there is no end...look at the first can in disgust...force down the first gulp...adjust...'enjoy' y'r day...what is a day?...what is time?...what meaning?...perhaps these are questins which should be asked...perhaps the drunk is wiser than the sober...perhaps not...perhaps none are wise...none are wise...but i cannot agree with those who preach purpose when there is none, and this is not a cynical outlook...the human thing needs to feel a sense of purpose and there is nothing sadder than one who preaches the purpose of his/her activities for it is so obviously for self-aggrandisement...this is fine as long as the self-aggrandiser recognises he/she is self-aggrandising...but whilst i think moral-subsets are spurious, plato had a point...deep down, one knows...genuine happiness must come from self-containment...the human, i, you, we, all am, are, are, are so insanely and unavoidably subjective, prejudiced and wrong that one cannot possibly base one's sense of worth upon the opinions of others...hence, self-worth/happiness is self-contained...but how many of us can say we are self-contained?...we are conditioned from birth to rate the opinions of others, even though there is no logical reason to hold the opinions of another in any sense of esteem...judge for thine self for often, indeed most always your fellow fellow will have self-interest underwriting every single statement it makes...caution?...no, fucking empirical evidence backs this idea up...literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who've minded beyond reason the opinion of others (v. wolff)...and this cuts both ways...the opinion of others is often colored by jealousy...i recall a guy who read some of my work initially saying it was powerful and brilliant and the moment i critisised him he thought my writing the worst in the world...indeed the desire to be a successful artist has nothing to do with art and everything to do with filling an empty crevice...this crevice, however, can be filled by no one but oneself...look at all the brilliant or not so brilliant or terrible or any gradient of sorts betwixt below or above wh0 have destroyed themselves because the adulation they receive does not gel with their own low self-esteem...sure such artists want more more and more but more is never enough because they don't love themselves...i'm sorry, i know that seems obvious but so many people are blinded to the 'truth' because of emotional short comings, the power of which completely eclipses their intelligence, no matter how great that may be...