Writing/Living

Somehow both of these concepts feed themselves, no matter how many times I have gone to bed at 8am in the past year, time has been erased especially with the World Cup at the moment, let's see, got high, tried to sleep in my bed, did not work, as always someone called, told me to meet up at our local haunt, a british pub which serves as my second home where I will probably be heading in the next few hours without regret, this weekend will serve as a remind of what motivates me to write but at the same time puts me on the bench from time to time, trying to regain a bit of strength, yeah I still have a job, hard to believe with my nocturnal lifestyle, plenty of company though and they are interesting for the most part, no time for running away now, shed the fear, the weary bones, fatigued heart and mind, all games for the most part, just forget, isn't that what alcohol is for, might as well get a head start from the rest of the party army due to land in Las Vegas in less than 12 hrs, armed with sharp knives and a strong desire to obliterate all rationale thought, these are my counterparts, my friends, and allies all rolled up into one, finally the fun is on my home ground no last night of a five day run curled up in a ball in some midtown Manhattan hotel questioning my judgement and overall ability to run in the fast lane with people half my age.

Just write and write and write, not much on content, things ramble, instead of watch me stick my finger down my throat at 8am to go puke in toilet, then go back to drinking, not giving a shit about anything except getting more fucked up, chasing that euphoric feeling, dizzy, intoxicating, calm, unafraid, time to get things done.