i find the google ads at the top of my page amusing, all about drinking/ well, drinking/ fucked up again yester with two fifths of vodka (fifth gallons, or 70cls)/ my hands smell of lime and my pores seep alcohol/ i never mean to drink much but i get to a point where something like an autopilot kicks in and i don't regain any control till i've slept it off/ it is a truly vile habit, sickening, and i say this even in the pleasant fug of morning pissedness/ vile vile vile/ i must try something new/ perhaps aa again but i found most of the people pretty dull and exclusive/ it's like they say oh we're all equal, we'll welcome newcomers, but it's cliquey shit, the old timers sticking together and the newbies trying to impress them/ depressingly sad and i can't quit equate a paradigm shift (such as is required to truly quit) with their moronic behavior/ their main failing is substituting something all consuming/ they all attended group 7 days a week and at weekends convention, i.e. substituting one addiction for another, making the poss. of relapse high and very dangerous/ genuine change must come from within/

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...

Let each have her sack of opium to ease the death-pains.

Robinson Jeffers

f'n' 'k/ rapered my abstinence day b4 yester/ decided on a plan to drink 2 vodka cocktails/night, thus saving cash/ this failed somewhat/ i ended up watching 5 films, retiring at 0700, and drinking a whole bottle (or 'fifth') of vodka, a bottle of wine and a can of strong cider (total 40 units)/ i then had a steady stream of visitors yester till collapse became inevitable at 2100/ i feel better today though shall certainly attempt at least one more day of abstinence/ listening little doll, the stooges/ why is life so complex?/hmm...now listening to sweet premium wine, kmd/ drinking caphay sans moloko and 'centering'/ have an article to write but just cannot get started/ my modus operandi is to leave work till the very last minute/ this i suppose stimulates one enough to do a decent job but i wonder sometimes what effect a balanced approach might have/ change is important/ those who are most certain are most ignorant/ god how i loathe prophetic sounding statements/ vuggid/ roll out the barrel, we'll have a barrel of fun, zing boom tararrel, we've got the blues on the run/

well, broke my abstinence into small crumbs yester/ my good friends and neighbors, family x, invited the alba and i for a bbq/ naturally i drank plenty beer and smoked much ffup, charris, skunk and durban/ 'twas a top day and night/ i djayed for 5 hours, rockabilly, hip-hop, jazz, blues, grime, funk, trip-hop and i managed to ease in some sex pistols and smiths/

muckin' finted/ day 4 sober/ only 'd 3 cans yester. and waking felt some degree of ener'y/ when yr always drunk you don't feel drunk, you just feel shit, no ener'y, a blanket betwixt you and the 'world', so this represents an improvement/ i worry parce que i've tried to quit so many times, as i did with heroin, but keep failing/ as soon as i start to feel better i relapse again/ h'ever this time feels slightly different/ watching the video for live with me, massive attack, really shocked me and took away any notion i had left that drinking was worthwhile (pour moi)/ listening sly, massive attack/ about to make coffee and embark upon another day...

is there a way back?
this begs the question
was there such a place?
i would say, highly unlikely.

memory can aid
it can also destroy
but one always remembers
as one wants

for example, a man
tortures himself near death with
morbid imaginings, black thoughts

self-torture is his own agency and
he achieves this by postulating
false(r) memories, un-confirmed projections

the bad is sometimes our good
we remember as we wish

i cannot tell the truth
i can tell only what i know
although this too is contentious

i gave up
thinking a while
ago

what was quite
natural to me it seems
far outstripped that which
others laud in themselves

but to focus on this would
separate me
even more

everything exists in
grades, variants, is given
meaning, worth in terms of
something else

everything is generated by it's
opposite

should i learn poetic
form? only if it aids my
thoughts

my throat is
sore. i should consult a
doctor and perhaps
brush my teeth regularly

my life often feels
empty and this leads me to
drink. i should certainly
engage with my surroundings

someone's
boring me
i think it's
me

remarkable, two and a half days sober and i've sorted out all my belongings, discovered loads of quality shit i'd forgotten about and now sit in a pristine study listening to dissolved girl, massive attack and typing/ 've also written some decent poetry for the first time in months/ rock on/ i certainly intend to drink this evening/ chandler (raymond) reckoned the trouble starts 48hrs after the last drink/ so if i drink in the evenings, and only a few, i should let myself down gently/ nice/

someone's boring me. i think it's me. dylan thomas.

doing good/ drinking way down (3 cans stella, 5.2%/jour), methadone down to 30mls, cital. to 20mgs/ feeling good/ there was no revelation such as leads to relapse just sick of feeling like death/ booze is just like smack: when you develop a high tolerance it does absolutely fuck all/ worse in fact because H doesn't mess with your health (extenuating factors are responsible for the ill health associated with the drug such as lifestyle, running out of cash and committing acquisitive crime, missing shots &c.)/ booze is a fucking fuck/ i was watching the video for massive attack's live with me yester./ it centers on a functioning alcoholic and as she takes her first drink she looks at the can with horror and resignation/ perfect/ one would assume alcoholic like booze but those with heavy addictions (not yr bizarre addict wannabes) loathe it/ even though i'm no longer using my love for heroin remains, because the drug itself did me no harm/ in fact it did me alot of good/ booze however i wish would be eradicated from the face of the earth/ anyway...listening monkey suite, mf doom/ drinking nice french roast coffee, black, and editing some poems/ i hope you've enjoyed the ones i've posted/ cheers...