By: zhivago
[2004-01-15]
A Couple of Idiosyncrasies
I drink, I read, I think.
Close the door.
I hold it gently, easing it into place - no sound. Turn off the light. I sense my way to the far corner of my bedroom. Feeling about in the dark I turn on the bedside light: It's slanted at an angle such that the force of the light is directed straight at the ground. It's perfect: there's one solid beam of brilliant white light at my knees (for I am kneeling at this point, next to my bed) and the rest of the room glows dully. Ophelia stares glumly down at me from my wall- eternally about to suicide by the "willow that lies askant a brook" (or somesuch).
Open the bottle.
It hisses for a second, and white froth surges out. Damnit, it's warmed up in the 5 minutes since I hid it here! Intending to quell the mutiny with a few sucks, I raise the bottle to my lips - but some froth escapes and leaps onto the carpet. I looking forlornly at the white island of froth - it's still frothing rebelliously on the off-white carpet - it's going to stain But I take another swig with my right hand, and rub the insurrection into the carpet with my left - room stinks anyway.
But, dear readers, I haven't come merely to sink warm beer in the dark. My word no - for not only is it warm not, but it tastes bad even when it's cold. A specimen of the local brew, sole selling points are nationalism (or rather state-ism: "It's the beer up here") and economy ($11 for 4 tallies). I won't mention the name of the yeasty beverage, but readers from my state will no doubt know the beer of which I speak - and may even be drinking it right now.
No, I come to luxuriate in literature - Mann, Hess, and the all Russians - I'm a drunken reader. It's funny to put it all down on paper like this; one's idiosyncrasies seem so absurd when they're inscribed irrevocably on white paper. I imagine the objective readers, their reactions. I don't expect them to understand - at the very least, I hope they are somewhat amused. To my mind humour (or amusement) is an ultimate justification.
I digress. My readers, I tell you alcohol lends one such single-mindedness. I drink, I read, I think - there are no distractions. Try it sometime. However warm beer is not recommended. Get a bit classy and try some Brown Brothers Reserve Port.
I had quite forgot the point of this writing; it's more musing aloud. I guess (so weak to start a sentence with "I guess") I want to show you a window on an experience both novel and positive.
As a postscript, another "novel and positive" thing to do is to not eat anything all day, and then walk through a busy food-court. Walk through there, nostrils dilated, and look at all the beautiful deep-fried shit all brown and greasy. Sit at one of those hard steel chairs that's bolted to the ground, swivel around and surreptitiously watch someone sink their teeth into a chicken-wing. Or a banana and walnut muffin. What an incredible feeling.
Final postscript: I may drink when I read, but not when I write.
I had heard that Kerouac wrote on a continous roll of paper threaded through his old Remington typewriter so that he wouldn't have to stop to change paper. He took bennies and drank wine when he wrote and I thought that I could see his writing going up and down. I read a couple of his books because they were on my parents shelf. At my mom's suggestion, I went to see a joint reading by Burroughs and Ginsberg at the National Gallery, I remember that I chugged a half-pint of Wild Turkey for the occasion. Burroughs kept giving me the eye, and Ginsberg sang a poem accompanying himself on an Indian lap organ. The point being that maybe it's better not to drink when you write, as you say; Kerouac died of a bum liver at age 42. That's funny, going to the food court hungry.
I was just singing it not two minutes ago, and a few friends of mine, judging by AIM away messages, had it on their minds also.
I wear a 100-gigawatt transceiver headband when I'm on the 'pooter.
..of the first comment, you are all OFF TOPIC! Bad! Bad posters.
Let's get these posts removed, shall we?
Now, being as this is a topic close to my shrivelled little stone of a heart, I will be on-topic for once:
I drank and wrote at the same time alll the time and NOBODY was the wiser. But I will not drink warm beer.
It is just plain abhorrent.
Such high standards, Morty. Huzzah.
The Fish Heads were a hangover from yesterday's topic; so, while outdated a day, only a little OT. There are different temperatures that are good for different kinds of beer/ale/porter/stout. I liked that many Canadian pubs had cider, it was a welcome treat for an afternoon libation: tastey and with a bit of wallop. I'm not suggesting that one should have fish heads and cider while writing, although I'm about to have a bit of pickled herring. It reminds me of my Aunt Chlotilde, who herself rather resembled a Bismark herring.
In vino veritas... and that's all I'm gonna say. Now, back to the bottle...
In salad est arugula.
I have found that the type and/or amount of alcohol imbibed has a significant effect on the quality and genre. Beer, while lovely in and of itself, always seems to lead to Goth poetry when used in excess. I've found beer in small amounts mixed with harder drinks yields creative, deep thinking works.
Must... enter... (but I REALLY don't understand this one)
And don't feel too guilty about the Zirealism being late. I have a feeling that nobody was disappointed.
i was
Antwan, I swear to Gawd that I don't think you could pour piss out of a boot if the directions were on the bottom of the heel. I don't think that you could find your ass if you were sitting on your hands with a road map. Lookie here: first, find some works by David Lynch; second, invent a mixed drink based on something from one of those works. At least. I think that's it. Maybe it's so simple that it eludes your grasp.
The editors are doing this just to piss ME off.
You must have seen some of "Twin Peaks" or the movie "Blue Velvet" or "Wild at Heart?" Think of Laura Dern writhing on the bed and saying, "I'm hotter than Georgia asphalt!" Doesn't that inspire you? Or the midget in the dream sequences of "Twin Peaks," he could be a half-pint of whatever you can whip up. When you take a piss, does someone have to aim your talliwhacker for you? I swear, if brains were gasoline, you wouldn't have enough to fill a piss ant's motorcycle. If brains were gunpowder, you wouldn't have enough to blow your nose. Of course, I might be mistaken and Annna means David Lynch, the Weather Wizard. But this contest is likely based upon some familiarity with the cinematographic works of David Lynch and some proclivity to drink, although you could well be a sodie fountain drink, if you swing that way. Look a some of the mixed drink recipes on the 'net, there are lots.
Some Actual Drinks
Bobby Digital
Butt Blaster
Devils Cauldron
Clitoris
"You Can't Puke in a Towel!!!"
Angel of Death
B.J.
Lady Godiva
...and so on
Try
here
David Lynch made an advert for "PlayStation2" and for "Clear Blue" preg test. Lots of David Lynch essays and lore
here. Antwan, maybe you could make a clear, blue drink called, "The Pregnancy Test"
Does
this guy look sort of like H. P. Lovecraft?
Whatever happened to Insane Weather Manipulator David Lynch?
Annna might know. He used to post to alt.slack.devo some--
David Lynch..? Name a drink..?? This conversation makes me itch! Get away from the computer for a while. Shower. Think about what your doing. Please...I'm feeling dirty.
Hieronymous, I envy you for that joint reading, if that was a true story. Curses to my parents for not making me sooner.