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close up - 17.11.2010
i'm not a lumberjack, but i am ok - 05.11.2010
tittewagen - 04.11.2010
bow chika wa wa - 26.10.2010
pointless quaver moaning - 13.10.2010

18.05.2010 - 4:37 p.m.

I tried to be funny once, when very much younger someone told me if i drank this brownish foul tasting liquid i would become the life and soul of the party and a veritable dispensary of bon hominem word play. That was (supposed to be) the last time i listen to anyone who isn't the voices in my head, i dimly remember stumbling up and down the undulating, meandering straight road before climbing into bed only to be rudely awoken two hours later to watch as i hurfed up the last three pints into my duvet, class. fucking. act.

I've not touched bitter since.

While not much older than the last episode i was attending a signals course on a nearby airbase, at some point i obtained a litre bottle of gordons. I supped heavily of its noxious vapours (just over half a litre, neat) before moving ungracefully and fully assisted by gravity from a standing position to a prone position, the area of impact at the precise moment was filled shoulder to shoulder with low chairs and even lower tables, parts of me managed to reach the floor, other parts didn't. I was dragged to my bunk (stopping only to chip a tooth on a tap in a vain attempt to dilute my blood back to mostly water) where i slept the sleep of the dead, the next morning i was still dead and still drunk although partially reanimated, learnin ain't no fun when you're a zombie.

Can't do without gin in the summer, had to wean myself back onto that, how middle class.

Slightly older now (but never wiser) and attempted to keep up with a friend and her friend on an all night baileys session in a bar, not realising the full ramifications of her friend being a hardened alcoholic. Baileys is nice cold, shit warm, so drink up fast. Managed to keep it all internal through the night but got into a fight with my manager on arriving at work the next day, luckily he didn't sack me on the spot.

Realisation that you can't hold your alcohol is no bad thing, as a confirmed toker this isn't a problem, alcohol can take a back seat and be supped for the taste rather than the cumulative effects.

Considerably older and drinking pints of yummy staropramen in prague with mates, so far everything is holding together. At some point, shots of kamikaze (which is also highly delicious) are thrown into the mix, finding them to be a taste sensation i drink more than i should and look over my metaphorical shoulder to see the tipping point diminishing behind me as i race headlong into alcoholic catatonia. I'm subsequently asked to get some batteries from the shop next door for a dying camera, on exiting the bar, the shop is to the right, i turn left and begin an epic and incoherent, high-speed stumble through the centre of prague before finally finding myself back at the same bar a half hour later (or it could have been anywhere from ten minutes to an hour, time is highly mutable in that state).

On my wedding day managed to drink large amounts of wodkawedbull straight off the bat and felt ok (great even), until the evening buffet came out and was so nauseated by the smell of the delicious, expensive food i couldn't touch it, went to bed hungry, cold (what is it with never supplying enough blankets in hotels) and sobering up, terrible nights sleep made so very much better by waking up to new wife and full cooked breakfast.

I wasn't the worst behaved person there by a long stretch, she now goes down in infamy as a demotivational poster on just how trashed and emotionally unstable a woman can get when very very drunk and how quickly they fall to pieces including (but not limited to) such dioramas as - hanging from my mothers shoulder telling her how much she 'fuckin' loves you, Mrs H�rd' and lets not forget - getting trapped in the cubicle because she's fallen off the seat and can't get up so they can't get the inward opening door open. classic.

No matter how drunk i've managed to get i've never forgotten the basic rules of society (shouting variations on the word 'fuck' repeatedly into the ear of the groom's mother counts as an example), just as i've never forgotten every painful detail of the previous night, where every scar was sourced from and those who i�ll have to face again and apologise.

Alcohol, the evil genie that is trapped in the bottle. It's the fog of confusion that does you in, like being trapped in a poorly controlled Zorb and watching the world go by from a long way inside your own head as the body does its best to interpret what signals are getting through. Since 2000, when i was first introduced to mdma, i've been amazed at the amount of clarity retained even after large doses, it allows for sensible decisions to be effected despite the raging head rush, now that's an altered state i can get behind.

Although even the xtc honeymoon is fading, with every time i eat it the come-up nausea gets worse, once up and sailing everything is dandy, but getting there, oy vey. Precautions are taken and hurfage is rare but every time the dry heaves appear it's a disconcerting time for anyone in the vicinity, will he, won't he, i'm getting out of the way just in case he does. How embarrassing, within my rushing cocoon of clarity i'm absolutely mortified, moving somewhere quiet with fresh air and counting the waves past, hoping that no-one's seen me in my transitory state until i can get it together again and rejoin the throng, on the outside i'm just another shaky raver people are gradually moving away from.

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