Admission

Here is an admission: My literary articulation peaks only when I am intoxicated. Preferably alcoholic but any substance that induces a high is enough to get the job done. In that sense, I have a reliance on vices. Ever since I got back I have not had a single energy drink and my alcohol ingestion has been too negligible to actually count for anything. I am trying to fixate on the silver lining for the time being. That desired scribal eloquence comes together with a pensive, sombre self and are both indented on the flip side of the sobriety coin. So in a way this involuntary abstinence has benefited me by aiding in the the suppression of the pathetic side of me. But with it goes the eloquence that I occasionally pride myself on. Also goes a prehensile state of mind and with it my philosophic genius is dragged along. A question then arises. Is my self-deprecation imperative for the tapping into my intellectually inclined talents?

Inspiration lacks when I am apathetic. My emotions are a double-edged sword. Those I label as inimical, also serve as the spark plug to most of my gripping endeavours. People say I need to get them sorted out, managed. I have recently learnt though that such emotions can never be totally neutralized. Just bottled up. Or funneled to other causes of a similar nature. Like incoherent gibberish for example. It is still not a perfect replacement of chances missed out on. And the only thing I can do is solemnly hope it will someday be.

P.S. I squeezed this out of me sober. I am discounting the couple of smokes I had hours earlier. It was a struggle indeed. Words and thoughts do indeed flow out smoother when I am high.