Love this because it speaks to me. I love how you can write so much sober. I'm like that too become too tired to write if I drink too much. Yet, I love the taste of whiskey. What makes this poem so perfect and superlative is the mixture of two concepts people wouldn't usually write about together, many would speak about them together, there is an honesty and bravery in being able to pen this sublime poem.
After two or three , three finger shots of Old Thesaurus, I feel pretty good..but Sometimes it just makes me sit and stare at the blank paper trying to figure out if I remember how to write..
Just printed this out and threw it on my quote wall.
Funny, much like drinks we have different ideas of hard drink and fast writing. I do mix the two, but like a true drunk, I dont know those who dont. The idea of getting drunk on words or even high on their meaning is all truth in a magic ball. I'd even go as far as to say there is a hangover afterward, where the words can and most of the time do, get you dizzy, sometimes sick, sometimes angry and rageful. This damn poem did more for me than most 4x its size. swing, and a homerun.
heh, well, as an expert on the matter, yeah, i have to agree, not sure if i've ever gotten "higher" on language and imagery than chemical junk, but i certain enjoy the trip much much more. very well said emily
AMEN to this - "i've gotten drunker
on words
than i ever did
on bourbon
and I never
mix
the two" - haha though I've gotten pretty close on the booze hahaha - nicely said! though i do tend to mix them
I think it all depends on how we act or react on both accounts. Any kind of drunkenness, mixed or not can be dangerous, and the hangover regretful. One can get drunk on words, and be swept off their feet with wonderful thoughts. One can get drunk on bourbon and say hurtful things, or write beautiful verses.
Then there are those that will mix the two and get s**t faced on bourbon, drunk on words and inspire others with mint julep lips.
This really had me thinking and smiling Emily. Great subject.
I may tuck this poem away into my empty Jim Beam bottle.
to the Lost Boys
I am no Wendy;
but my voice brings you back to me.
And you sit around my feet,
anxious for a story
or a kiss.
Listening to my words
spinning adventures,
like so much g.. more..