I'm Sorry for the Silence

Don't ask me why or how or what's happening. I don't know and I don't care. Just bring more drinks in the mean time and I can try and be impressive, at any rate. I'm tired, I'm running on empty, I'm running to the hospital. So long as by hospital you mean bar.



In a single night I have been described as scholar, gentleman, scoundrel, cad, card, flirt, fanatic, prick, asshole, sweetheart, the dictator of drunk, autocrat of alcohol, archbishop of booze. I am vast, I contain multitudes. This is all very well but its getting late and I'm getting tired and things (if you haven't noticed) are wildly beyond my control. I am pretentious, I am full of myself, I am reasonably assured of my own brilliance, I am quaking with self doubt. I am using alliteration and parallel structure. I am chopping my sentences and clauses up quick, so the whole affect should remind one of a beating drum, a heartbeat, a march. I'm marching to the close now and so I will let loose these rhetorical flourishes to let play the phrases so it all rushes together and what once was steady and rythmic becomes hurried, frenetic, the lines will blur together and the sentiments will whip and tear apart at the seams. I am losing meaning like it were water through a sieve, I am throwing in plenty of literary references; there's shakespeare here and some whitman and most assuredly, though it is well hid, there is some Thomas Wolfe, for those with the eyes for it. For the rest of you, you should have given up ages ago, this is nothing but masturbation without the release, it is material manipulation, these words nothing but signifiers without signified, misplaced signposts directing you nowhere but the house of Asterion, where every room looks alike and there is no ball of thread for you nor have you a bronze sword so surely you are one of the nine, but not the one. How's that for pretentious? How's that for overwhelming you with misdirection.

"I thought this was going to be one of those fun, but ultimately repetitive 'Zach drinks too much' posts," you object. If you've gotten this far, there is nothing left but to close and close well, but I can't close, and though coffee is for closers, on this, the morning after in a string of hungover morning afters, I'm breaking the rules, I'm gonna sip my coffee and be done.

I'm putting my sleepy shoulder to the wheel.