A case of chicken and egg effect? I drink because I make no impact but then I make no impact because I drink. I come out sober hoping to find anyone to engage with but find everyone in a huddle and engaged with those they know. I bounce incongruous from element or ectoplasm or the fine molecular division between our dedicated similarity. The force between our conglomerates. The resistance in our silken souls. The epidemis. Its just me rebounding against. Disparities. Jutxapoint. Verisimilitude. Dylan Thomas was a feature, yet a drunk, but integrated.

And ‘if you’re in a battle you need guys in the trenches you can trust’ is why I point my privates at you: sons of a silly person. That means you’ll sell your sorry soul for Artic roll. Twat because 99% of wankers live in Wetherby.

What kinds of persons arrive from a ‘club’ but in their haste forget the very essence of the club they already originate in?

There must be more to life than…anti-depressants.

So the doctor’s receptionist says to me: your prescription is up for review so I can’t issue you a repeat. What do you expect? That by this morning I feel like a drug hinged loser who needs a mainline hit to
get me away from a life of twats?

So was it my brain resolving backwards? I often wonder what disguise I was portraying in my climate of anger?

In a world where only the crusts are left I will take the crust.


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