I need to get it out.

Who can survive without malted barley? A pack of smokes? A woman with whom you sleep naked and wake up with her whisky legs on yours?  A good laugh?

People say, they can, and they should. Be saved.

Well, is it worth it?

I say, for me, no. That’s all for it. That’s all there ever was and will be.

Dark necessities? Yes, for me.

It doesn’t satisfy me. Reality. Life. Trust me, I tried.

I woke up every morning, had my breakfast (if I was early or if there was any breakfast at all), went for work, a few years to receive what they call education, then for smokes, then for nothing. 21 years, 7777  days, 15000 meals, 60000 hours of well-needed shut-eye, I still don’t feel anything. It’s alright. It’s fine.

I don’t find joy in what I should. We don’t use the words well. It’s not alcoholic, the word you’re looking for is an Enthusiast. He is not a creep or a womanizer, he is a fool who falls in love with usually every woman, he is not a smoker, what’s the word for inhaling fantasies? Dreams?

I don’t know. I know nothing except, for me, it’s not worth it.

Simple life, high thinking. I hear this from my grandfather a lot. My father never says much. He is too busy thinking if it’s worth it for him or not. It’s bullshit what they say you know, life is simple. It’s not. If it is, it’s not worth having. Where’s the fun? The rush? Quickies are good too. Sometimes. Marlboro is fun but, until you pick the beedi up which the guy next to you just crushed from his shoe and walked away, and you, yes you, pick it up and take the first puff of your life, well, that my friend is the idea of life.


You can’t call yourself an avid reader if you haven’t read at least 100 books. You also can’t call a man a drinker until he has had 100 gallons of whisky. True words have never been spoken, they say. Okay.

I don’t know much. Seriously. Except, it’s not worth it.


Let’s catch up for a libation. Soon. It’s 7 in the morning. She is about to get up. I gotta go down. My time is over.



By: Rocket Man