Oooh you're a naughty mess

...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/