George R. Shirer's Blog, page 8

Boozy Writhers Withering Away in Unheated Garrets

It occurs to me that when I write poetry, I am seldom inspired by anything 'bright' and 'good.' I usually write when I'm feeling down or angry. Negative emotions seem to fuel those particular creative fires, and so I wonder if I need a more stressed and negative environment to write anything at all?  It's an interesting question, at least from my point of view. And if it's true, it might explain that old trope of the boozy writer whithering away in an unheated garret.
If there is any truth to it then I'm afraid I won't ever be a successful write. I enjoy comfort far too much to sacrifice it for 'art.'
Does that make me weak? Or sensible?

Apple Whiskey and Nina Simone

 I'm sitting here this evening sipping apple whiskey and listening to Nina Simone.  I should feel very chill right now but I don't. I feel restless, like I should get up and go run around the neighborhood. Or get in my car and just drive into the night and see where the road takes me.

It's not a great feeling.

Annie Lennox was too right....

The rain never ends.It falls in sheets of gray doom.I'm ready for sun.
Yes. In case you can't tell, it's been raining cats and dogs here for the last three days and I am sooooo over it. I'm more over the rain than I am of the pandemic. 
Still, it could be worse.
At least, I don't live in Texas.

Valentine's Day

I don't like Valentine's Day.I don't think I ever really did.Even back in grade school, it felt like a chore, like a lie. You had to get a valentine card for everyone in the class, even the kids that you didn't like.As time went by, thankfully, that ridiculous ritual came to an end. You could pick and choose who you showed your affections to on the day.And that's my biggest problem with it. A lot of people wait until Valentine's Day to show the person they care about that they care in a deliberate, meaningful way.There are 364 other days of the year when you could give someone flowers, or candy, or take them out for a nice dinner.Valentine's Day is kind of a day for thoughless assholes making a token gesture of affection.

February 12

 I hate February 12th. It's always been a bad day for me and today doesn't look like it's going to be any better this year.

Over Time

Over timegrief cracks,like ice,like glass.
Over time,memories fade,like a paintingleft in the sun.
But we clingto the grief,to the memory,because the heartis treasonousand wantswhat it wants.
Over time,the traitor heartlooses its grip,memories fade,grief slips away,and we are leftwith only thevague impressionof loss.
Over time,things get better,even if the end of grieving,feels like betrayal,and tastes of ash.

Vampire Dreams

Last night, under the influence of either vodka or fruit, I dreamed of vampires. The dream was set in Washington D.C., during the 1990s, and the vampires were mainly hotel staff, concierges and the like. They were established and friendly, and a bit put out by the arrival of a new group of vampires that called themselves the Golden Mob.
Honestly, I would try to write this down as a story, but I don't think I could do it justice. The dream felt like it wasn't mine, as if I had somehow tapped into something dreamed by Hunter S. Thompson or Terry Pratchett. It was very peculiar and I woke up this morning feeling unsatisfied that I never learned the resolution of the conflict with the Golden Mob.
(I must admit that I LOVE the name Golden Mob for a group of vampires.)

Drunk

 So, I have had a bottle of vodka and some lemonade and I am quite drunk as I write this. Please forgive any mispellings because, well, I'm smashed off my tits.

I suppose that I shouldn't be writing at all, but I have said I 'm going to write something here every day for a year. So, this is what I'm writing. If you don't like it, go read someone else's blog. Ha!

Why do I drink? Well, why shouldn't I drink? Why shouldn't we all have a drink? It can be relaxing and it can release our inhibitions so tha we say what's on our minds without that pesky editor in the way. Honestly, when I drink, I think I become more truthful. Also, horny. Booze just seems to set off my libido in a way that wine does not.

Sadly, I am meant to get up tomorow and take my friend out to do his laundry. Thank God we have scheduled this for later in the afternoon, because the morning is going to be completely out of the question. Honestly, 2PM might be too fucking early. Ha!

Anyway, here is today's entry. Enjoy. If you have some booze in your house, pour yourself a glass and join me in a virtual slug. 

I shall talk with you all tomorrow.

Rodentia

 I'm sitting in the living room, which I normally don't do, writing this. Normally, I stay downstairs in my bedroom because it's cozy and private. But today the house is empty and my room feels weirdly oppressive.

As I sit here, I can hear some critter running around in the attic above my head. We have rats up there, according to my roommate/landlord, and he is currently waging a protracted war upon them. He has used traps that snap and has advanced to poison. (Obviously, the poison isn't working because I can hear the critters scampering about. But then, I don't think the traps have been very effective either.)

There's supposedly a mouse in the kitchen as well, but he thinks he got that one. (I didn't have the heart to tell him that where there's one mouse, there's bound to be others.)

So far I haven't seen any sign of rodents downstairs. If they do invade my little area of the house, I may have to take steps of my own to knock off the little buggers.

But for now, I'm content to let J handle the matter.

For now.

Thoughts on Overindulging

 I ate to excess last night and I deeply, DEEPLY regret it this morning.  Which makes one wonder why we do it in the first place? I'm sure I'm not the only person in the world who knows they're having too much, that they should stop, but they just keep on going.  Is there some neural circuit in our brain that doesn't close? Are we, on some level, petty masochists? It makes one wonder.