Posts Tagged ‘drunk’

depression

The crackle of clumsiness

As I attempt to communicate

While drunk as Boris Yeltsin

And only end up freaking women out

And being that creepy guy

That incel waste of space exuding desperation

When I was just trying to be friendly

And not trying

To get into their pants

Or at least trying not to think about it

Or look like I was thinking about it

After the first rejection

Comes the second

And that’s okay

It’s after the hundredth rejection in a row

When not even looking for anything sexual

That the depression really sets in

Like a cancer of the brain

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Hidden heart erupts pulse flowers like dust-motes through air

Inner brain imagines mandalas

Plastic fractal rainbow images crystallize my mental skate-park

Unicorn day-dream deadly fantasias, hooligan holograms

Central hallucinations pulsating in infinite variety

Mad ravings by voices which echo incongruously

Suicidal strivings against concrete conformity

Schizoid simperings in the marrow of suburbia

Cracked actions in a bubble of sedition

Mutating madrigals which burble in tune

To the beat of the cosmos, galaxies and stars

Dreaming of vast swaying fields of marijuana

Drunk on delusions and midnight madness

Dying while hermit crabs crackle against rocks

Dying overcome by poisonous paranoia

Dying within while the world rages without

 

velvets

 

When I was in a band

We thought we were going to be famous

And snort cocaine out of groupies’ butt cracks

Get married to some hot models

Or maybe Winona Ryder

And take an amount of drugs that would scare the shit out of Keith Richards

We had a go at doing the drugs

One time we even got paid in Morphine

And pretended to be Lou Reed

Many times I was kicked out of my own gigs

Drunk off my head and acting like a lunatic

So I didn’t have much luck with the women

‘Cos I was too fat and weird

We always did well with the bizarre guys with dreadlocks at the back of the bar

‘Who would love our silly pot songs

And ridiculous attempts to channel Iggy Pop

When the band broke up

‘Cos the other members started breeding

I was sad

John Berryman

He made it all up
False malady – told with a poker face
Staying at home and watching TV
Counting the leather pelican winds
Making obstacles out of dust-motes
Letting his neurons short circuit

Grieving Henry was drunk
‘Wasted again’ Mr Bones
Spirit fades like a camera flash
Hope falls into the abyss
Life holds Henry in a fist
Squeezing out residual rebellion

Clench, clench, spit
Like orange juice
Or blood on sheets
At night when silence descends like mist
He remembers
How blessed are the dead

party

Will you be there?
I will be there with my many friends
I will get drunk and stoned and run a humungous muck
I will hit on all the single women and attempt to be interesting
And some woman may find me interesting
Come on, it has happened before
Occasionally
There will be some cool bands there churning out distorted indie goodness
It will rock like a hit of cocaine
In an intimate vein

Will you be there?
It is likely that someone will choke on their own vomit
Which is a nasty way to go but better than choking on someone else’s
There will be rivers of alcohol and forests of weed
Tobacco and pot smoke will be thick as the conversation
People will exhibit joy and fascination
With each other and with the moments of togetherness
Which grow into an ecstatic peak through group synergy
Then subside into nothingness as everyone goes home to their hangovers

lonelyperson
Fuck this shit
I like women
Women don’t like me
It’s a conundrum
A paradox
Who the fuck wants to fuck a middle-aged fat bastard
Who the fuck wants to cuddle up to someone sweaty, bloated and pointless
How much longer will I self-destruct:
For love
For the sake of pain
For madness
For joy
For kicks
For blitzkrieg insanity
For lack of a good woman

I like women
Women don’t like me
I am:
Too fat
Too lonely
Too desperate
Too maudlin
Too pathetic
Too weird
Too stoned
Too drunk
So I have another beer
And I have another cigarette
I have another cone
Occasionally I have a shot
And exude infinite soul-longing for silent death-bliss
Which will come on like a shot of smack and euthanize my emptiness
And set me free to roam the realm of Spirits
With angel’s wings

wildturkey

Spare me the Wild Turkey, brother
I just can’t handle that shit
I go dingo’s gonad crazy and start fucking shit up
And so do a lot of other people

Wild Turkey 101 is 50.5 % alcohol
It’s fucked up man
And it fucks me up like being hit in the head with a two by four or a rubber sledge hammer
Never drink Wild Turkey with an unmedicated schizophrenic who calls himself a ‘voice hearer’
Who goes hurricane loco and smashes your guitar while shouting out- ‘Your rich dad can buy you another guitar!’
He smoked all my weed as well
A real friend was there to save the television before he broke it and stopped him from drawing all over the walls
I was too pissed to know what the fuck was going on
I think I might have popped some pills too
Then next day I woke up with the house smashed up and a pulsing, mutating headache like I had a cane-toad bouncing around inside my skull and eating my brains,
My mouth was a sandy prickly desert
I wondered what the fuck I’d done the night before
Had I even remembered to feed the guinea-pigs?
My wallet was empty but I’m sure I had a hundred and fifty bucks in it the night before
My only memories were broken images of drunkenness and depravity
And moronic drunken arguments sprinkled with paranoia
Everything else was a blank
I know I’m getting too old for this kind of ridiculous bullshit
I am not Charles Bukowski and I am not Shane MacGowan
From now on I’m sticking to beers and bongs

rape-is-such-a-strong-word

After work drinks while I was working as a shipping clerk
Whole office in a pub in Northbridge
Five beers
Improved social skills
Feel relaxed and engaged talking to beautiful women
Ten beers
Not so many social skills
Starting to be a bit of a dick
Starting to repeat myself
Fifteen beers
No social skills
Slurred speech
Load of toads squirming and whirling in my brain
Pissed as Bukowski, I stagger off from the pub, collapse in an alleyway on James Street and fall asleep
Wake up early in the morning surrounded by graffiti covered walls on cold bitumen- my head hurts like I have been hit between the eyes
There is a weedy little guy with a beard and a shit-eating grin on his face staring at me
When he can see that I am awake he says:
‘I sucked your dick while you were asleep’
I am struck dumb and numb by shock
Not a good feeling- paranoia ensues
I get up and walk briskly away towards the train
At least he didn’t fuck my ass