Alcohol or Love

 I should have been a wedding photographer.  This is a photo I took at my cousin's son's wedding many years ago.  With photos like this. . . I'd probably have been sued by the mundane masses, but those with a knowing eye. . . . 

I wish I'd done more like this.  It is so subtly bizarre.  

That is what I did on Friday night--processed old photographs I'd never touched before.  It is not what I had wanted to do Friday night.  Maybe its the not drinking, I don't know, but doing a Dry Bukowski is not very appealing.  Scotch, Friday night, and me. . . o.k.  It's like having a friend.  But wide-eyed awake. . . not so much.  Sobriety does not lend itself to creativity, I find.  Maybe if I were a dancer, it would be o.k., but I don't think that is an option any longer.  Alcohol must release something in the brain that makes you brilliant.  A few drinks and I'm funny.  A few drinks and I start making connections.  Sober, I stare and say, "Look at that."  It might be o.k. for enlightenment of some sort, but I am not really seeking that.  I like to make things.  Maybe I'll take the "Kubla Kahn" route.  

Of course that was never completed.  

It is more difficult to be sober and alone.  I'm imagining that is why sober Christians and Muslims have all those children.  

There are advantages to not drinking, I'm sure.  I can't think of them just now, but if I ever lose weight and can once again fit into my jeans. . . .  At this point, however, that seems a fantasy.  I started to say "a pipe dream," but that takes us back to "Kubla Kahn."  And I don't think I could create anything on opioids.  But  I sure as shit could sleep which I'm not doing now.  Another bad night.  I was up before five.  

I slept better when I was drinking. 

I am going to need some real life experiences if I am to continue this blog.  I need stories, and sitting with my mother is not providing me with much that way.  

And I'm off the news.  I don't want opine about the idiocy of a world obsessed with the Covid-related legal hassles of one tennis player or the mental health issues of another.  Fuck divas.  

Ooo. . . I may have a story about that, but, you know. . . it comes off as self-agrandizing and these are not the days of Robert Mitchum.  

This morning, I have a little treat for you.  You can't hear it anywhere else on the internet except at Radio Selavy.  Just here.  'Cause in all the world, only love can break your heart.  

And that is what I wanted on a Friday night.  Being in love is like being drunk.  Even better.  

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