Alcoholic Sounding…fuck it, it’s true
There’s two forms of young artists. There’s the young bastards who grew up surrounded by art. They’re unstoppable and brilliant wildfires of talent. They blossom early and sell out quick. They’re bored by the time they’re twenty five. They’re divorcing and suffering by the time they’re twenty six. They’ve written their best work at thirty three and they’re seeking the ghosts of success for the rest of their lives. Or they’re happily swimming in alcohol by then.
Then there’re my favorite kind, the wildfires surrounded by allegorical blue-collar firefighters. These artists grow up in a “work hard, head down” landscape, few of them able to grasp an opportunity to express themselves. Art is there for fun, for social reasons, but it’s nothing that anybody above twenty understands to be a career. Spending time working on art is literally like stealing money at gunpoint from these artists friends and family. However, if able to break through the long suffering years of sarcastic comments and biting lectures, these are the ones that create the absolute best works of art.
Man, but the media’s just gone crazy with how bad alcohol is nowadays. And the baby-boom-tubers have come to believe everything they hear. Have a drink before seven o’clock or after seven’fifteen, you’re a fucking alcoholic. You’d better get your ass to meetings, you’re going to destroy the lives of your family and friends and ruin your own.
If you didn’t know a thing about Ernest Hemingway, you probably still picture him in your head with a mojito in hand. Or Fitzgeralds other love affair with gin. Writers and artists used to drink like whales. Nobody ever said anything. Point is, the beating and brainwashing of a value system that seeks to destroy self-expression can only be vanquished by liquor. Sure there’s health problems to come, but at the expense of a flurry of brilliant words on the page, I have to say fuck it. Let a guy have a drink. Let the girl fall all over.
Let the socially awkward bastards break out of their shells, drink, fuck, fall-down and write all about it on the way up. Alcoholism or art? Fuck it, art.
