budulating hemmingway

last night, lightly drunk on dubbel and tripel, i reached some sort of sweet spot, and cranked out 1000 words in 20 minutes. i have not yet reviewed them so i cannot say whether they make any sense. i recall thinking at the time that i was being a little more repetitive than usual, but not allowing this to stop me. flow was what i was after, and the liquor seemed to have brought that.

a proud, age-old tradition i joined last night, i reckon, of drunken writers banging away in a dark room at the keyboard, listening to electronica on their borrowed sennheisers, committing to paper bog knows what and hoping that some of it will be useful in the morning.

how special.