the Libertine

I have this habit of penning spontaneous thoughts during intoxicated moments. Alcohol kinda transcends me to the 16th century. I don't exactly look like John Wilmot over there but I do look like the actor who played Wilmot in a movie. (Hmm who that might be?)

I'm sure we all felt this enlightenment before. You know, a burst of consciousness while being stuck in traffic, a cognitive output as you watch the rain fall, yeah stuff like that. However as I also undergo the same occurrence, a couple of rounds do give sudden credo.

These are thoughts that are generally absurd if not totally obscure, at first that is. However, after you had a couple shots of Jager and a bottle of beer, your innermost perceptions are somewhat heightened, only to find out eventually that they have no sense at all.

My handy-dandy cellphone serves as a journal. Recently as I was fiddling it, I opened a note titled as "What is discontent?". I don't exactly remember when I did it but its really amusing. Here it is without editing. This is liquor thinking.

"What is Discontent?"

it's the hard earned money you belch on payday in the form of puke
it's the words you conspire to replace own stupidity with sarcasm
it's the behavior to fulfill upon the very laughter of your friends

save the charades for games
you hate life because it hates you

hilarious is the life that hasn't done enough but has told to halt
it is subjective whatever form of rebel you nurse
the river winds narrow only to end as a catastrophic waterfall

you can buy ships and vessels only to find yourselves drowning in pity
i am discontent and unhappy
grins and smiles are masks fooling no one but the soul

you are free but leashed
knowing yet unable to act
that is discontent

Alright, no more alcohol for that guy in the corner staring at the night sky scribbling at his cellphone. Look at the many mistakes I did. It sure reads funny. But anyway, I think I'll still be doing this practice. After all, they are my thoughts.

So whenever you see me unusually quiet in the corners of a bar or tavern with a phone in hand, I'm not texting. I'm channeling the libertine in me.