I am quite pissed in this picture. In fact, I am pretty pissed in all my pictures. I only take photographs when I am drunk enough and relaxed enough not to care. Or remember.
Writers have a long and complicated relationship with alcohol. I have always wondered why. Is it because we are simply overwhelmed by the amount of absolute shit crowding our brains at every waking moment? Are we such a fragile lot that we need to numb our abusive self doubt? Does being under the influence of something really swing open the flood gates of creativity? I mean, we can't all be characters in the same asylum. Can we?
The rub, for me, is that I cannot write while drunk. I mean that literally. My handwriting becomes scrawls of violent scratches on the paper. Whatever monster that lives inside me desperately tries to claw her way out. If paper could bleed, I'd awake in a pool of blood. Unfortunately, my monster is illiterate. She's all bark and no bite.
Thank God for typewriters and computers, am I right?
