Keep hydrated, that’s the advice when you’re completely rat arsed. (That’s drunk for my international readers; see us in England have an avoidance issue when it comes to our inherent alcoholism, we have to choose words that won’t directly indicate that we have a problem.). I, about a month ago decided that blogging was a ridiculous idea and I would have no more to do with it. Yet, in my lonely, inebriated state I decided that I would talk to the ether, for there is no one else to converse with but the voices in my head, and they tend to be overly negative about everything.
I’m lonely, and I was out drinking to the point of catatonia with a number of other human beings, which would suggest that I was not alone. However, as I type, seeing a duplicate of every word, I realise that you can be lonely in a room full of people, all of whom share your love for the Lord of the Rings Trilogy. As far as loneliness goes, it doesn’t matter how many people you are with and how much you love them, they will never know what goes on that extra inch beneath your skull, and that’s a good thing too, because if they did, they’d probably refuse to go drinking with you again, and they’d send people to your house, armed with sticks, spiky ones, that hurt.
What was I talking about?
What I’m trying to say is, we’ll never understand each other. We might try, which is admirable. To willingly try to understand one another is the most righteous act anyone can undertake, and I admire anyone who tries it, but it is (in my most humble opinion) a futile experiment. For, with all the linguistic, philosophical (and other intelligent words) understanding a human being can possess, one can never understand what is going on in another human being’s mind.
I think what I’m trying to say in my drunken way, is that we are doomed to not understand one another. And that we are all alone, and will ultimately die alone.
But is that so bad?
Fuck it I don’t know, figure it out for yourself.
Either way, it’s kind of sad that we, as a race that has managed to get to the moon and back, are all over reliant on what people think about us, even those we’ve never met. Our very being seems to be determined on what Frank the taxidermist thinks of our ability to play the piano, or express our feelings; or even write a hit novel. In a way it’s a conundrum. We are lonely because people don’t understand us, but if people did, they’d know everything about us, and subsequently judge us. If people knew us, the true us, we’d be fucked. We’d never make any friends again. I believe there is nothing after death, so if we die alone, does it really matter? It’s not as if we’ll be judged in the after-life on how many friends we had, or how good we did life, like a strange spiritual X-Factor. So we may as well not care, we may as well be the biggest dicks on the entire planet if it pleases us.
Oh… I’ve fallen into that destructive habit of thinking, something you should never attempt when sober, let alone after several glasses of Merlot, several ales and few whiskeys. I don’t know what I’m saying, I’m just rambling before I plunge into the depths of internet pornography, losing that battle against addiction for the ninth time.
I don’t know, I think what I’m trying to say is I love you all. I love you all digital entities which I have never met. I love you all for all your perfect imperfections. I love you all, because of you, I love you all because I will never understand you, and it’s our innate inability to understand one another that makes us so infatuating.
Also I’m going to regret every word of this tomorrow.
Some Fucking Twat Who Has Drunk Too Much.