tisdag 16 augusti 2011

It's not alcoholism, it's just internal decorating

I just realized how something as trivial as listening to a certain artist or referring to a certain author can make all of life's miseries and tragic behaviour seem not only acceptable, but chic. I myself am obsessed by Victorian veneral diseases such as syphilis and the whores who spread them (You have to admit, everyone who's somebody of importance have had syphilis. It's the Mac Computer of the 19th century), and I devour books about my favorite boys Oscar Wilde, Charles Baudelaire and Friedrich Nietzsche, who all had a certain thing in common; the urge to go out on parasyphilitic rampages and then write a poem whilst they took a shower in absinth and dwelled in their beautiful misery. If you drink alone by the dinner table whilst a re-run of Simpsons is on in the background, you are just sad. Borderline psycho. However, if you fling yourself into a divan, drink a whole bottle of whisky in one sitting and then write a short novel about how nice it is to throw up, then you are a fucking artist. If you avoid contact with other people, you are a socially inept human being. If you dress in dark clothing and smoke cigarettes in holders, you are Le Artist who takes a stance against the demoralized capitalist society. I've been drinking writing my entire life, and to this very day I have never once felt very... authory. (Look at me, making up words and everything. How groundbreaking.) I think that I might have try another approach to create my image as a decadent author; accordingly to the success rate of my predecessors, I must either resort to heavy drugs and absinth or defy any relationship which is not based on me paying people for intercourse. I do love my whores. In an instant, new possibilities were revealed to me - I wasn't using tobacco because I thought it makes me look cool and death-defiant and allowed me to act like a Russian mafioso (YES I CAN, IT SAYS SO ON THE PACKET!!), I was using tobacco because I had realized the emptiness an meaninglessness of life and the absence of an absolute moral or an eternal soul. I wasn't drinking because I wanted to be drunk enough to talk to complete strangers, I was drinking in order to let my creativity flow freely. I wasn't locking myself into my room just to be able to play Pokemon for 6 straight hours, I was retreating to my humble abode to reminisce of love and loss and losing myself in the creative process. It was impossible to do something irresponsible, because it was all part of the image - the image of the bohemian, the decadent libertine, the grieving genius. And everything could be saved with just one simple reference.

Friend: Hey, what's up?
Me: Nothing really. Just walking alone in the dark with a half empty bottle of Jameson, crying. You?
Friend: Dude... That's sad. How are you?
Me: Oh, don't worry; I'm listening to Tom Waits.
Friend: Oh, OK then.

See how I saved that possibly awkward situation? I have an effing GIFT! I should have a superhero named after me, something like "Hipster-woman" or "Pretentious douche-lady". Kids today need more role models who pass out in their own vomit. Teaches them to follow their dreams.

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