Lost time

To make up for lost time, here again, drink in hand. So much is so demanding of my attention. Hearing someone talking about beer at work, for instance. Instantly better than most other conversations, so I move with gravity. Beer, you say?

Reading again a novel by J.P. Donleavy, The Ginger Man, which is also inspiration. Just to write... If I could jot it all down in the time my brain allows, I'd have many more than the six or seven journal volumes present. None are actually present though, most recent scribble being at least several months old. From early days on this particular journey.

Most recent addiction, lures me on, out, back, in, farther, further, sleepy hits. It's an art, if you make it so. Getting hammered and using screwdrivers to open boxen.