It was early afternoon when the lust to defile myself stirred in my underbelly. For science and artistic reasons, I thought it would be proper to engage in mass quantities of fun juice.
It was 2 p.m., where would it go? Where would this biological expedition lead? Would it be like Freuds attempts so understand the savageness yet clarity of cocaine? I could only hope the momentary lucidity of thought and hope the ambiguity of thoughts and suggestions subside. I would taste the flavor and feel the fuzziness of the teeth and gums, the clarity that would promote greatness, genius.
I had arranged a visit from a friend and a few well placed calls in my night to properly gage the findings. Being the subject myself, I would be unable to trust my own eyes or mind; I would have to leave the diagnosis to my comrades.
Seven hours into the study20 chicken wings, five cigarettes, a 30-minute nap, and a half a case of beervery little effect. Goddamn it! What the hell is making it difficult to feel the affect? Has experience of simple dumb luck kept me afloat? No time to think or study, no time to make the effort.I must press on if I ever want to hit the wall. I must move forward.trek into the unknown section of my experiment! Press on to put on a good show for no one to witness.
The study promoted this attractive miss to spit the verse, The school of hard knocks. How do we pay the tuition? What do we learn? But then it hit me, just like the university days, I was my own teacher. The test was just not to fail.myself. There is no right or wrong answer, just direction. My drunken escapade will not go unrewarded; I will have the knowledge and the experience under my belt.
Who am I kidding; I was out to ruin myself, just like I did my college career. Just like those days, booze and exaggeration was king and I was its jester. The night was just beginning, how would I escape this foolish effort?
After hitting the road for a few barley-pops, I returned with the assistant of the always welcomed visitor. Drinks went down at this point like glasses of sand. The rate of consumption was equal to that of a child with a sippy-cup. I was a large child, most likely barley able to change myself. Good thing there was no need.
Thoughts of potential danger crossed frequently. My mind was lost between liquid confidence and proper. Which words would cause evacuation of company, which words would not create awkwardness and unsettledness? I tossed simple phrases around in my booze-soup filled melon. I could tell I was getting to that promise point; my mumbled nature was clearing up. I have to drink my way into suitable speech patterns.
The night had to do what was expected, fell to a sudden stop the asphalt under me would not be kind. I would lose skin, face, and bragging rights. Unmovableno moving forward, only hoping to reach the rack and not falter; causing broken objects in many forms. The complexity of the situation had been toned down to its most basic elements. Man versus himself in a lopsided battle with alcohol.
The drink cheats, it never plays fair. It makes you get caught in the drifteating, drinking, smoking, and drinking more and rambling person info that you would never share. Morals are diluted, becoming almost nonexistent. Your words are aesthetic like your thoughts. There is no beautifying what has no chance. The exquisiteness of your intentions turned to shit.
The mind has seized and the mouth followed, the only thing to do now is to make take a rest and begin promptly in the morning. Never given in to the bastard, the enemy, the drink. Press onmake the drink chase you and keep up its power. After a bit, the drink will defiantly weaken! So will the liver.
I forgot to set a fucking limit.so when do I stop the madness.or do I. Is it better to burn out living or fade out living?
It was 2 p.m., where would it go? Where would this biological expedition lead? Would it be like Freuds attempts so understand the savageness yet clarity of cocaine? I could only hope the momentary lucidity of thought and hope the ambiguity of thoughts and suggestions subside. I would taste the flavor and feel the fuzziness of the teeth and gums, the clarity that would promote greatness, genius.
I had arranged a visit from a friend and a few well placed calls in my night to properly gage the findings. Being the subject myself, I would be unable to trust my own eyes or mind; I would have to leave the diagnosis to my comrades.
Seven hours into the study20 chicken wings, five cigarettes, a 30-minute nap, and a half a case of beervery little effect. Goddamn it! What the hell is making it difficult to feel the affect? Has experience of simple dumb luck kept me afloat? No time to think or study, no time to make the effort.I must press on if I ever want to hit the wall. I must move forward.trek into the unknown section of my experiment! Press on to put on a good show for no one to witness.
The study promoted this attractive miss to spit the verse, The school of hard knocks. How do we pay the tuition? What do we learn? But then it hit me, just like the university days, I was my own teacher. The test was just not to fail.myself. There is no right or wrong answer, just direction. My drunken escapade will not go unrewarded; I will have the knowledge and the experience under my belt.
Who am I kidding; I was out to ruin myself, just like I did my college career. Just like those days, booze and exaggeration was king and I was its jester. The night was just beginning, how would I escape this foolish effort?
After hitting the road for a few barley-pops, I returned with the assistant of the always welcomed visitor. Drinks went down at this point like glasses of sand. The rate of consumption was equal to that of a child with a sippy-cup. I was a large child, most likely barley able to change myself. Good thing there was no need.
Thoughts of potential danger crossed frequently. My mind was lost between liquid confidence and proper. Which words would cause evacuation of company, which words would not create awkwardness and unsettledness? I tossed simple phrases around in my booze-soup filled melon. I could tell I was getting to that promise point; my mumbled nature was clearing up. I have to drink my way into suitable speech patterns.
The night had to do what was expected, fell to a sudden stop the asphalt under me would not be kind. I would lose skin, face, and bragging rights. Unmovableno moving forward, only hoping to reach the rack and not falter; causing broken objects in many forms. The complexity of the situation had been toned down to its most basic elements. Man versus himself in a lopsided battle with alcohol.
The drink cheats, it never plays fair. It makes you get caught in the drifteating, drinking, smoking, and drinking more and rambling person info that you would never share. Morals are diluted, becoming almost nonexistent. Your words are aesthetic like your thoughts. There is no beautifying what has no chance. The exquisiteness of your intentions turned to shit.
The mind has seized and the mouth followed, the only thing to do now is to make take a rest and begin promptly in the morning. Never given in to the bastard, the enemy, the drink. Press onmake the drink chase you and keep up its power. After a bit, the drink will defiantly weaken! So will the liver.
I forgot to set a fucking limit.so when do I stop the madness.or do I. Is it better to burn out living or fade out living?