I’m not fully hydrated and eating. I’m on liquids. I can’t eat today. I’m busy annihilating a mix of bananas, pineapple, apples and strawberries in the blender. It’s quite sweet, just like me.
Thanks to last night I feel like I have been poisoned with arsenic, or at least rat poison. Because rat poison dries rats out and then they die. Or something like that. I’m not yet ready to die as such, but quite close actually. It’s quite weird how the body works. I drank such a vast quantity last night and I’m still thirsty. They say alcohol is a diuretic, but it can’t be that good of a diuretic. I mean it’s impossible for it to be this effective. With the twelve shots last night, there is no way that it managed to make the 6 glasses of mixer disappear inside of me. Oh I forgot about the bubbly as well. I forget a lot of things.
The drinking by yourself thing at your desk at night while trying to come up with written pieces, concepts and ideas is a classic of the creative type. This is usually the beginning of a downward spiral. Mine is more of a level spiral as I keep it to within certain levels. I don’t stray too far off the path. I mean it’s quite often in life that you can create your own path. I quite like that. It makes me feel like a wood feller cutting a stellar path through the forest, in search of sunlight and fresh berries.
And then just as you think the path is clear, you see a deer munching on some sort of vegetation. And little gnome type people in their own little community. Little gnomes running around shouting “I’m a little gnome, I don’t have a home, I live under a stone and my girlfriend likes to moan” I’m particularly off the hook today as I think there might be traces of alcohol mingling deep within me. That explains the writing.
I mean that whole thing there with the deer and the gnomes actually had no real life resemblance, I just went off the track a bit. I like to tell myself little stories from time to time as entertainment, and that was just a glimpse of one of the stories I tell myself. I won’t lie, when I tell myself these stories I can actually see everything clearly. Right now I can picture the deer, but the sun is right behind it, and it is blurring out most of the deers face because it’s so bright. But I can see the deers eyes…all big and goggly. What a pretty deer. It would make a nice pet. It can chill with the rottweillers at SLXS.
You should probably not let your kids read this. If your kids ever have any sort of creativity inside them, they tend to end up like this. If they ever say they want to be a writer or an artist or anything creative whatsoever, you must warn them against it. Because they will sit inside for hours playing with their own thoughts and then write things like this, or do stupid paintings that will sell for millions of pounds…but only once they die. I always see art as a weird thing. Most artists of old used to sit inside drinking Absinthe, make a mess of a painting and then probably just throw it aside in a drunken rage while they trash their room.
Absinthe and drugs create a “Starry Night”
Art is twisted and people think WAY too deeply into it. Open THIS LINK in a new window(Right click, open in new window) and read the stuff they wrote about Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” Firstly, from the looks of the painting, Van Gogh was tripping on acid while painting it. I bet you that the paint is actually mixed with blood that came from himself, after crushing a glass of Absinthe with his hand. From the write up given on the painting, the art critics or whatever they are, were tripping on acid as well. To quote:
One should also note the interaction between the streamlines formed in the flow over the eleven stars as well as the boundary layer created above the mountains- all in all, a painting showing how art serves to illustrate scientific concepts.
Well I am shattered! I seriously have no comment here. I always have a comment on something but this has me broken. This could well be the end of the road for me, reading something like this. Imagine what people would say if they looked deeply into my writing? They would love it! I would be labelled and sent to solitary confinement! Or they would somehow, from my writing, say that I am leaving cryptic messages into how the world was created.
But wait, let me have a quick art critic look into this painting. From the way the sky is curling around the stars, it looks like waves are crashing. This signals the ocean. The stars and the ocean together, mans most natural form, it’s life at it’s most organic. This CLEARLY signals something deeper into why stars die out, but can still be seen from earth for ages after their death. It also signals that when a star dies, a wave crashes, and makes a surfers day. So every time you surf a wave, you in effect kill a star. How could you?! Also the name “Starry night” refers to the stars Van Gogh was seeing that night. He had stars in his eyes from the drink. We call it a classic “blackout”
I think the only thing keeping me alive at the moment is Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Have you ever seen the rain?” playing on my iPod. Which at the moment is sitting on my pretty Fight Club-ish iBod. It’s a scene out of a movie I tell you. I also have the TV on, and I’m watching Dum and Dumbre on a CD. The computer sits perched on my six pack. It’s hilarious how the little things amuse me. This movie is cracking me up! The part where he tries to find the name of Mary, and finds it on her bag as “Samsonite” Classic! I would laugh harder but the pain runs deep today.
I also have a copy of Blades of Glory next to me. And when I hired a DVD last night I got an old one free so I snapped up Zoolander. I’m about to watch it now. Because it’s alright to be really really ridiculously good looking. And we can all die in a freak gasoline fight accident. Maybe not all of us can reed and rite good eether. These movies are probably going to be late because I hired them last night but never got round to watching them because I was so thirsty. More fines…oh joy.
And it’s Friday of course. There is Tiesto tonight. Debauched. Tomorrow there is rugby victory at Neighbourhood. And then Sunday…Oh I hate Sundays! They are so boring. Everyone goes and does the whole family thing, and sleeps, and…what do we do on Sundays? I usually sit around with a drink entertaining myself. I play with the dogs. I try make up stories in my head. I play cops and robbers with myself. I burn incense. I light candles. Whatever. I sms people to see if they reply. They don’t. Maybe we should all do the beach on Sunday.
Or at the very least the pool at Kelvin Grove?
Decisions decisions. I’m probably out for the weekend so I will check back in on Monday. If you see me crying at Neighbourhood on Saturday after the World Cup, don’t stare. It will make me cry even more. I’m also quite self conscious and don’t really like people staring at me. But obviously if you are one of my readers, stare all you like. I need to know that someone cares. You can buy me a drink if you like as well. We can have a toast.
I think tomorrow might deserve a little champagne breakfast by myself. Obviously with no breakfast though. I’m still debating this issue. One of many currently mulling inside my head. Or as I like to call it, “The SLXS Launch Pad”
You stay classy Cape Town. And planet earth.
Sean Lloyd
Editor
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