Tuesday, April 3, 2012

it's writing

Inspired by a turn in the evening's conversation, at SIN, and by way of a subsequent sequence of lookups too tedious and convoluted to relate here, I find that elsewhere, in another "online" journal, I had written -- three separate times, over a period of six months --
I expend all my will not to drink, so that, drinking, I should drink out of failure, in the sovereign intensity of failure.


  1. (Oh, and SIN's original owner, the guy from Texas, has moved on...now (since maybe last winter? certainly by the time the above post was written) it seems to be run by a Dutch couple. And it's called Fabelhaft.)

  2. I found a file, "10-2-04-note.rtf," in which it is written: He had pulled off the not-so-subtle transposition of personal spaces and public spaces, so that the exterior world became a fertile womb, while the cramped quarters of the local pub was a group of strangers waiting to cross the street.

  3. "...there were only two types of drinkers: those who drank to enhance their personalities, and those who sought to rid themselves of something."*

    But what if the personality being enhanced is precisely that of seeking to rid oneself of something?

    No, there is only one type of drinker: those who drink to escape themselves and become thereby even more themselves. Alcohol is the solution in which the paradox does not dissolve.
    * Haruki Murakami, "Drive My Car," Men Without Women: Stories.