...sweet, sour; fast, slow; adazzle, dim...manley hop.

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

...the rank vapours of this sin worn mold. milton

well, the beer's disappearing and the whiskey tastes sweet and cloys on the town-j/ darkness is slowly enveloping me because the night is approaching and i haven't turned on my desk lamp/ I'll just sit here in the on-top-of-real glow of the computer screen and drink and type/ it has its advantages/ for uno, not having to pretend one is interested in other people/ i think interest in others is largely self-interest thinly veiled/ how could any sentient being genuinely give a shit about the vapid ejaculations one overhears, exemplar gratis, at an after work drinks do?/ with little sentience or much pretense (or a combination of elements that fall somewhere 'twixt the two)/ there is so much in life to enjoy and i think many people just have no idea how to live/ moreover they have become so glutted on the security convention rewards them for unswerving loyalty that changing lanes or whatever is barely if not at all considered (today i saw a little asian guy with fucked teeth puking on a pavement at the cusp of a tide of human traffic/ two clear examples of how not to comport oneself)/ i'd given up ranting but i care about writing and rant is currently getting the job done/ more sweet orient liquor floods the gullet/ as a younger man i believed vehemently (and quite to my detriment) in a place beyond the smoke and stir of this dim spot/ ironically genuinely bad, 'real' experiences freed me from this absurd notion/ when one creates bad one also creates some finer spot/ when one has bad thrust upon one, one (hopefully) attains the fortitude and self belief to allow one to participate in the 'world'/ despair is often born of too much luxury/ and the winds listened/

...plagues shall spread and funeral fires increase...homer

well, my experryment lasted briefly/ monies owed for some writing hit my account yester after and thus i hit the pots/ dry fur vant sank and den home swiggin' sur-them, sweating on the bus, naturally/ i first deemed it too sweet but oh soon my students became but pricks from a pin and i saed 'uhm..'/ most celestial/ accompanied with much grape i attained a fair bacchic/opyated state then crooned and moaned with contentment at the moons till the young hours, finally bedding the self with slender aide from consciousness/ woke feeling refreshed to strong cafe noir and coltrane/ have now six slender beers and a fifth gallon high commissioner/ i intend to relax after such a punishing ordeal and maybe...who knows?/

...a wilderness of black silent waters...hughes

fn md-rt/ e-koot-n: shes lost control, joy division/ drinking china tee, black/ am carrying out another experiment: dramatically reducing my methadone intake to see how long it takes for real, sustained sickness to set in/ with heroin, one can smoke £100 worth (with a bit of practice) and wake 10 hours later getting or already sick/ the sickness will rapidly become more painful until one is virtually immobilized/ methadone works differently/ it is slower acting thus gifting less of a high and lasting longer/ now it is claimed methadones longevity is slightly more than heroins and that methadone does not, as claimed by many, hole up in the fat, bones andseterah/ i've been taking meth daily for three years, beginning at 110mls, plus healthy use atop, and have managed to get down to about 45mls with very little use on top/ three days ago i decided to drop to 30mls/ since i've experienced no serious symptoms of sickness/ methadones life span cannot be increased, thus there must some stored in the body to explain my lack of symptoms or some other explanation/

Methadone has a slow metabolism and very high fat solubility, making it longer lasting than morphine-based drugs. Methadone has a typical elimination half-life of 15 to 60 hours with a mean of around 22. However, metabolism rates vary greatly between individuals, up to a factor of 100,^[5][6] ranging from as few as 4 hours to as many as 130 hours,^[7] or even 190 hours.^[8] This variability is apparently due to genetic variability in the production of the associated enzymes CYP3A4 and CYP2D6. A longer half life frequently allows for administration only once a day in heroin detoxification and maintenance programs. Patients who metabolize methadone rapidly, on the other hand, may require twice daily dosing to obtain sufficient symptom alleviation while avoiding excessive peaks and troughs in their blood concentrations and associated effects.^[7] This can also allow lower total doses in some such patients. The analgesic activity is shorter than the pharmacological half-life; dosing for pain control usually requires multiple doses per day.

...morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs... manley hopkins

So ok I’m gonna write because I need practice and I believe one does indeed get better with practice…so what should I write about? Well, how do I feel? Ok, signore. Throat a tad sore, but otherwise I’m pretty good. M & Dysk approaching (poss. by rail) for lunch, which should be ok. Had an argument of sorts with the veiled homeboy day before yester so he may come, many not, we shall see. He dispatched a letter shortly after which I received this morning, something to the affect of ‘stop thinking about yourself and stop drinking’. Good advice, rather on spot in fact. One must not brood on the past. I must learn that not brooding and denying the past are two very different things. Brooding is bad, just as burying things is bad, so one must attain a happy medium. Man dem Greeks wiz raaht blad, evvie ting in moderation, git mi? See it ain’t hard. Sit down, start writing and soon cometh a gurry of fluff. I am astoundingly hungry and also contemplating a cheeky starter can. ‘tis 10.55am so in no wise early for thou-rs soothly, but I pause. Fuck it, I’ll take a drink, soothe the epiglottis. L8rz.

brood not on loves bitter mystery. yeats

feenun oh-kuy/ slurping steaming china chai negra/ listening: blue nocturne, king curtis/ and today?/ well, have some writing to get done (for renumeration, thus matt in tone), some poetry to force out ('tis an acute pain when the muse is abroad) and must lunch with parents and that which constitutes/ will be flush come the week's end and mercifully will be able to afford more than the corrosive white star/ that such products are available legally perplexes me somewhat, but then at least i can get royally slaughtered for under a fiver/ nyse...

the direful spring of woes unnumbered. homer

well, if you wish to learn how to waste a day, apply to me/ i have this fetish, which i can't be arsed to explain, for annoying myself, viz. with bad music, literature, poetry andcetera/ thus i've spent a sunny day watching grime videos and drinking white star/ extremes of turgid shite are indeed as exhilarating as joyous extremes, though not as pleasurable (at least not in the conventional sense)/ burn baby, burn/ i cannot conceive of living any other way (id est fuck delayed gratification)/

the real comic muse is the one under whose laughing mask real tears roll down. gogol

my current predilection for quotes came with the discovery of an old notebook in which i had transcribed phrases from books i was reading/ i have found a running theme, somewhat in line with something saki said, viz. 'he's simply got the instinct for being unhappy highly developed'/ i think i am unfair to ascribe this sentiment to myself, but nonetheless i think it true one finds comfort in what is familiar, good or bad/ i'm more of the mind of blind willie mctell: if i could change my way of living, it would mean so much to me/ however for real change to be effective, particularly from a state of distress, it must be gradual/ the mental upheaval of sudden and dramatic change is often too much for the distressed mind-body to handle, hence the near total failure of rapid detox treatments/ i think the resolve for real change often comes in a flash, an epiphany if you will, but it's implementation, to be lasting, must be carried out gradually and thoroughly/

...flushed with slaughter...he...ranged the wild deserts red with monsters gore. homer

f'n'n' 'k'/ drinking china tea, black, and pasting the disparate fragments of my self back together (an ambitious notion, but one must have goals)/ currently as bust as a humorous remark (and it certainly ain't funny)/ not reading much/ listening to a lot of music as per/ hendrix has found his way back into my cd player (having played his two best albums to death i needed a bit of a break)/ current aural intake: 1983, hendrix; whispering leaves; distant siren/ head dense and unsettled so will write more when i've attained some degree of equilibrium..

a world cast in frost! hughes

f'n'n' passable/ slightly static and poisoned but have barely got circulation moving/ ekootin: seeing red, killing joke/ trick shit, bitch/ now stranglehold, ted nungent/ pecking at caffe schwartz 'n' gaining my bearings/ must write a pome 2joor/ most of the stuff i'v' bin producing d'late smacks of no clear direction and an unforgivable absence of effort/ well, i'm not too keen on effort (most good stuff comes in a flash, thank you muses) but when the muse is abroad some degree application is essential/ and one must write both under inspiration and as a daily grind because both improve the standard of one's work/ and the better acquainted one is with one's trade, the better chance the muse has of being represented accurately/ nah mean?/

This is the tongue of the dead man. How far he is now, his actions / Around him like living room furniture, like a decor. Sylvia Plath

i was seized by that fanaticism of love which has repeatedly been so fatal to me. masoch

i have no idea why i'm so jumpy/ the mat just stuck to and then fell from the base of my glass and i almost leaped out of my skin/ t'other day the door bell went and the same/ i literally flew up in the air when a motorbike back fired along the high street last week/ who knows why.../ listening: fungle junk, dj food/ got the place to the self and just started my second glass of fizzy alky apple juice/ shit i've been listening to this album (dj food, recipe for disaster) since i was 15/ takes one back, what?/ the colossal, life shattering events which have occurred since are not inconsiderable in number, and 13 years is a long time, but nonetheless 15 doesn't seem that long ago/ it was a great time/ i had plenty female admirers, plenty of mates, was beginning to properly discover drukqs and rave culture, going to festivals/ it was a time when two great musical genres, grunge and rave, were at their peak/ magic memories, man/ now i'm a drunken relic of too much rave and too much post-rave activities, but i'm still here, sentient and passably content/ anyway...uh4 i leave, check this wonder -IN:

an indigenous canadian hunter was called to give evidence at an inquiry into a planned dam that would flood his homeland and destroy his traditional way of life. he was asked to swear on the bible that he would tell the truth, but having not seen the bible before wondered how this miraculous truth-telling instrument worked. he spoke with the translator at some length and finally the trans. looked up at the judge and said, 'he does not know if he can tell the truth. he says he can only tell what he knows.'

&

Being an artist doesn't take much, just everything you got. Which means, of course, that as the process is giving you life, it is also bringing you closer to death. But it's no big deal. They are one and the same and cannot be avoided or denied. So when I totally embrace this process, this life/death, and abandon myself to it, I transcend all this meaningless gibberish and hang out with the gods. It seems to me that that is worth the price of admission. Hubert Selby Jr.

i have to get drunk before the day begins. easy-e

f'n'n': 'k'; ekootin: blackfoot roll, mr scruff; drinkin': cyder with ice, plenty of that good ice/ jus' tekken foyst sip d'joo-or, hoping sustained drinking will ward off my crippling h'over/ to the park alba-d up yester, where at drank much merrydown cider (a bargain: 7.5%, £1.99/ltr and proper sussex cider, no tramp elixir merrydown)/ stayed most of the day, watched the sun retreat and the grasses glow a rich gold before home, where at began the serious drinking, consisting mainly in k cider and cheap table rouge'/ stayed up till 0200 watching annoying music videos and footage of bukowski enacting his juvenile routines/ the mistake i made was pouring the remainder of all my drinks in to a can of beer that'd been open 24hrs or so (maybe 36), thus gifting myself 650mls of pure excellence/ when i woke this fine morn felt a tad off kilter but have managed to redress the balance somewhat with coffee, food and now cider/ remarkably my eyes are sparking clear/ i expect that because the damage has showed so little i'll go to bed one night looking 28 and wake up actually 50/ go figure, as the saying is/