That influx of the greatest element on this planet helps me survive this sentence. Air. When you’re drunk off your ass, a lot of the world does not make sense. You’re tempted to do ridiculous things. Such as post this damn thing publicly. As if..
A sneeze just then nearly floored me. But seeing as I sleep on a mattress on the floor, perhaps this is not relevant. Anyway, back to the discussion on hand. What does it feel like to have consumed thousands of currency worth of spirit?I say currency to insulate this against nationalism. It feels very giddy, as prescribed in most fictions we read. The world spins around, things make less sense than usual, you feel slower, more off your game than normal. And still the world spins. What is one mere person against lifetimes of distilled and fermented perfection? Not a whole lot, it seems, but still holding his own enough to write this coherent (I hope) piece.
Why do we drink?
Why must we indulge in an activity which lowers our self control, lowers the warnings in our brain that warn us of consequences and overall, leads us to long term suffering in the guise of short term enjoyment? We do so because our brains tires us. Mine does for certain. I think, rethink, overthink everything. My mind controls my life, my thinking controls (most) of my desires. So the spirit is basically a blessing in disguise. An extraneous force which forces my brain to think way outside its comfort zone.
In such a situation now, I wonder. Even with a brain addled on spirits, I wonder. What deep insecurities can I tap into? What insights might I gain about my self in this intoxicated state?
I took a break just then. Wallowed around a bit in my drunkenness, tried to force some dihydrogen monoxide down my throat. It went up my nose instead and I write this in a haze of semi-consciousness. ……
And then I gave up. I write this edit weeks later, having scavenged this piece from the depraved depths of my drafts folder. Truth is, I’ve been try to write while high for quite a while. It’s not like my sole purpose is to ingest something to get me high and then write about the experience. I just try to see what interesting thoughts I can come up with even in a state of total inebriation. Reading the above, seems like I have a coherent thought process even when there is several glasses of whisky down my gullet.
The idea of writing while drunk (or stoned) came to me after I wrote a particularly interesting entry (or so I thought) after one particularly fun party. That was the first time I had written something which felt real and not made up. The emotion was clear, raw. The intent of the post was not hidden behind fancy prose or wordy sentences. The coherence remained, but the cloak of superiority that I don whilst not high was removed. That was my intent with this and a couple of other posts I tried after parties involving much liquor. The other intention was simply documenting the experience. As a foolish young writer, I suffer from a terrible affliction. The lack of any real, meaningful or interesting life experiences from which to draw inspiration. Hence, I never say no to any activity that might lead to something new or interesting. Moreover, I was drawing some inspiration from an artist who painted self portraits after consuming various hallucinogens. I have no penchant for drugs, so alcohol seemed like a worthy substitute.
Trouble is, writing requires concentration and the white page just starts to get hypnotic and makes me sleepy. Especially after all that whisky. And while I do a steady job of documenting my condition, the experiment yields nothing of substantial interest. I did hit a nerve about my self control traits, but that’s just posturing that I can come up with at anytime.
Ah well, at least I got a post out of it.