No more

I decided to stop boozing. Not that I drink so terribly much, but sometimes I have those escapades that end up a bit too heavy for me – then I start drinking and stop only when I’ve ended up somewhere knocked out. So, no poison cups to temporarily disable my consciousness. No pilgrimages along city streets in search of mind-numbing substances. How can I ever get more than a few short scribbles on paper when my brain is paralysed and my liver groans that I only have a few years left that way. I am not Bukowski, and he too stopped and started writing at some point.

This I decided, sinking under the foam, of a nice hot bath.

I said to myself: ‘pubs and beer are a system, invented by the system, to be able to forget that cursed day-to-day system.’

Many times I failed at that, for a while I succeeded, but it still gnaws at me. You begin to attach yourself to the café scene like a lifeline, only to feel even more miserable after it, renouncing all that seems like ambition. There must be another way to, firstly, find your happiness and, secondly, isolate yourself from the world’s worries for a while. A way outside the system.

I will fight any system that wants to curb my mental freedoms, I will find my own ways to be able to flip that fucking switch. Damn alcohol and narcotics. I will find a way within myself, maybe by feeling a little more and wanting less, by being. Or something like that.

Waking in water, near the Valhalla of the smell of the old and the new.