It's great when you're straight

yyaldrin

in je ogen waait de wind
i quit coffee, cigarettes and alcohol since this month. it's 18 days now, i guess for some people that's not that long but for me it is. i want to get rid of the poison i take on a daily basis. i want to know if i will sleep better, if my skin will shine brighter and if i will have more energy. it's too early to say anything about those effects yet so i'll report back in some weeks again. i do plan on taking drugs every now and then.
four weeks now. what i have noticed is that i sleep better and have less headaches. i don't know if that is due to quitting alcohol or cigarettes though. but to be honest, the difference ain't that world shattering. the biggest improvement is probably a sublime bowel movement. something i wasn't expecting. i do feel a bit more socially isolated and haven't seen my friends and acquaintances as much as i used to. have also not been more productive than usual. gonna add another four weeks to it.
 

luka

Active member
Staff member
It never is earth shattering. You don't start feeling superhuman. But yes shitting improves.
 

yyaldrin

in je ogen waait de wind
read this bit in dubliners today and had to smile cos it describes so well that urge to go and fuck everything up, to start a riot, to go in the pub and come out of it as a savage.

The man returned to the lower office and sat down again at his desk. He stared intently at the incomplete phrase: In no case shall the said Bernard Bodley be . . . and thought how strange it was that the last three words began with the same letter. The chief clerk began to hurry Miss Parker, saying she would never have the letters typed in time for post. The man listened to the clicking of the machine for a few minutes and then set to work to finish his copy. But his head was not clear and his mind wandered away to the glare and rattle of the public-house. It was a night for hot punches. He struggled on with his copy, but when the clock struck five he had still fourteen pages to write. Blast it! He couldn't finish it in time. He longed to execrate aloud, to bring his fist down on something violently. He was so enraged that he wrote Bernard Bernard instead of Bernard Bodley and had to begin again on a clean sheet.

He felt strong enough to clear out the whole office singlehanded. His body ached to do something, to rush out and revel in violence. All the indignities of his life enraged him . . . . Could he ask the cashier privately for an advance? No, the cashier was no good, no damn good: he wouldn't give an advance . . . . He knew where he would meet the boys: Leonard and O'Halloran and Nosey Flynn. The barometer of his emotional nature was set for a spell of riot.

His imagination had so abstracted him that his name was called twice before he answered. Mr. Alleyne and Miss Delacour were standing outside the counter and all the clerks had turn round in anticipation of something. The man got up from his desk. Mr. Alleyne began a tirade of abuse, saying that two letters were missing. The man answered that he knew nothing about them, that he had made a faithful copy. The tirade continued: it was so bitter and violent that the man could hardly restrain his fist from descending upon the head of the manikin before him:

"I know nothing about any other two letters," he said stupidly.

"You — know — nothing. Of course you know nothing," said Mr. Alleyne. "Tell me," he added, glancing first for approval to the lady beside him, "do you take me for a fool? Do you think me an utter fool?"

The man glanced from the lady's face to the little egg-shaped head and back again; and, almost before he was aware of it, his tongue had found a felicitous moment:

"I don't think, sir," he said, "that that's a fair question to put to me."

There was a pause in the very breathing of the clerks. Everyone was astounded (the author of the witticism no less than his neighbours) and Miss Delacour, who was a stout amiable person, began to smile broadly. Mr. Alleyne flushed to the hue of a wild rose and his mouth twitched with a dwarf s passion. He shook his fist in the man's face till it seemed to vibrate like the knob of some electric machine:

"You impertinent ruffian! You impertinent ruffian! I'll make short work of you! Wait till you see! You'll apologise to me for your impertinence or you'll quit the office instanter! You'll quit this, I'm telling you, or you'll apologise to me!"
 

version

Who loves ya, baby?
Reminds me of Celine's bit about the camaraderie of a men's room in NYC.

It so happened that just to one side of my bench there was a big hole in the sidewalk, something like the Métro at home. That hole seemed propitious, so vast, with a stairway all of pink marble inside it. I'd seen quite a few people from the street disappear into it and come out again. It was in that underground vault that they answered the call of nature. I caught on right away. The hall where the business was done was likewise of marble. A kind of swimming pool, but drained of all its water, a fetid swimming pool, filled only with filtered, moribund light, which fell on the forms of unbuttoned men surrounded by their smells, red in the face from the effect of expelling their stinking feces with barbarous noises in front of everybody.

Men among men, all free and easy, they laughed and joked and cheered one another on, it made me think of a football game. The first thing you did when you got there was to take off your jacket, as if in preparation for strenuous exercise. This was a rite and shirtsleeves were the uniform.

In that state of undress, belching and worse, gesticulating like lunatics, they settled down in the fecal grotto. The new arrivals were assailed with a thousand revolting jokes while descending the stairs from the street, but they all seemed delighted.

The morose aloofness of the men on the street above was equated only by the air of liberation and rejoicing that came over them at the prospect of emptying their bowels in tumultuous company.

The splotched and spotted doors to the cabins hung loose, wrenched from their hinges. Some customers went from one cell to another for a little chat, those waiting for an empty seat smoked heavy cigars and slapped the backs of the obstinately toiling occupants, who sat there straining with their heads between their hands. Some groaned like wounded men or women in labor. The constipated were threatened with ingenious tortures.

When a gush of water announced a vacancy, the clamor around the free compartment redoubled, and as often as not a coin would be tossed for its possession. No sooner read, newspapers, though as thick as pillows, were dismembered by the horde of rectal toilers. The smoke made it hard to distinguish faces, and the smells deterred me from going too close.

To a foreigner the contrast was disconcerting. Such free-and-easy intimacy, such extraordinary intestinal familiarity, and up on the street such perfect restraint. It left me stunned.

I returned to the light of day by the same stairway and went back to the same bench to rest. Sudden outburst of digestive vulgarity. Discovery of a joyous shitting communism. I ignored both these disconcerting aspects of the same adventure. I hadn't the strength for analysis or synthesis. My pressing desire was to sleep. O rare, delicious frenzy!
 

luka

Active member
Staff member
I had this idea for a thread called 'Getting Drunk with Corpsey' it's where he goes to the shop and buys 10 lagers and a bottle of vodka plus mixer of his choice and we do the same and then we match him drink for drink while he plays us music and shouts and stuff
 

luka

Active member
Staff member
This would be serious drinking and keep us updated for each sip. The whole journey. I'm really looking forward to it.
 

Corpsey

call me big papa
Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring
Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing.
 

version

Who loves ya, baby?
A Drinking Song
By William Butler Yeats

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
 

baboon2004

Darned cockwombles.
four weeks now. what i have noticed is that i sleep better and have less headaches. i don't know if that is due to quitting alcohol or cigarettes though. but to be honest, the difference ain't that world shattering. the biggest improvement is probably a sublime bowel movement. something i wasn't expecting. i do feel a bit more socially isolated and haven't seen my friends and acquaintances as much as i used to. have also not been more productive than usual. gonna add another four weeks to it.
Def well worth quitting cigarettes whether you feel better immediately or not. Your body will thank you at some point.
For me sugar is a big one too, depending on your diet. It's in fucking everything, which makes it more noxious and harder to track
 

Mr. Tea

Shub-Niggurath, Please
I heard on the news that there's new evidence that lungs can repair themselves better than previously thought when you quit smoking. Of course the longer and more heavily you smoke the longer it takes them to recover.

Dunno if this also applies to the harm it does to the heart and arteries.
 
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