996 DAYS LEFT to tell the world about yourself. What do you want to tell it?

 It would appear, by sight of my mounting debts, my adult lifetime of debts that like many famous writers (and here I can insinuate myself into the clan of famous writers by sharing) I love leaving beyond my means, beyond my station.  Is that the number one defining characteristic?  Other than being an alcoholic?  Perhaps.  Or does the status of not only "writer" but "published" (shush on the self-published) writer leapfrog over the negative qualities and provide the potential dating candidate with a certain lively appeal?

I've got 996 days left to live your life and if so, the first thing I need to do is establish another large tier of credit so that I can continue to live my life above my means - my means being, looking at ads or Instagram images (the holy-coded hell of images) and realising no, you cannot go to that restaurant or no I will never be vacationing to that country again or no, that girl is nowhere near my capability, etc etc.  It is all about DENIAL otherwise, if I am not living my life and frankly, I have never seen any or enough evidence to establish that I should have to deny myself while others, who are no more intelligent or no kinder or gentler or no more worthy in fact, deny themselves of nothing simply due to the cunt they were born out of.  

That's right.  I assert it as my right that I should not have to deny myself any more than society teases me with its lifestyle images which are supposed to convert me into drooling capitalism or at least salivating, mouth-watering consumerism which in turn I will have no funding for and which then means I am being unfairly tortured by consumerism.  The evil doctors of rich cooking up to get the mouse to chase the fucking cheese, the bankers and other affiliated loan sharks promising, whispering a better life and teasing you endlessly with ideas of how to spend money that I do not have.

Porn is completely different.  Sure, the women might in one sense be unattainable without money but at the very least there is a release thus avoiding a full-blown and sadistic sense of cruelty.  The kind that comes with Instagram images of things and food and drinks and living spaces that you will never achieve or obtain and have no way of ever of releasing yourself from the temptation of - where is your consumerist orgasm that does not involve actual spending?  

Anyway, this all arises from wondering who I really am and in what order:

Writer - yes perhaps at the top because other than drinking, it is your favourite exercise when it is working AND unlike drinking it is FREE.  

Drinker slash alcoholic - yes and yes even more.  Your entire life has been dominated by the ups and downs of self-abusive drinking, binge drinking, non-stop and life-altering drinking.  You have always said hey, drinking is great for me, look at all the traveling and living I have done as a result of it, how can it be wrong?  

What was the third thing?  Stand up comedian?  Of course not.  The third thing was (look at my notes) LIVING BEYOND MY MEANS.

I would not say that this idea of living beyond my means is a means of exiting my class status which is decidedly middle class although not probably upper middle class just typical white suburban middle class.  Did I want to be rich?  (Yes - but not because I wanted to think of myself as being better than the majority rather because I wanted to live casually without having to think of trifling things like having enough money to pay for something.  I didn't want everything, I just didnt want to have to worry about everything.)

Well, which has done the most harm?  For one, drinking to excess unless at home and on the cheap shite, is expensive.  You know this from your years of living in Paris.  Drinking beer to your fill in Paris is probably three times more expensive than doing so in Ingerland.  Not sure about NYC.  I think NYC used to be a lot cheaper otherwise how could I have ever done it?  But now NYC is almost as expensive a pint of beer by god, a pint of beer or the cost of it, defines all cultures.  

I cannot go around rating cities by who has the cheapest pint because pints are not all equal of course.  Not going to be drinking shitty warm lager in Vietnam for fuck's sake, am I?

Prague is the drinker's paradise.  Nothing comes close.  Used to be cheap in Ingerland too until the government caught on that taxing the fuck out of tobacco and alcohol was the cheap magician's way of raising revenue.  Make the poor suffer more indeed.  Let's do an analysis of the ratio of increase between a pint of beer and a bottle of champagne.  Let's see when you first starting living in Paris a bottle of Veuve Cliquot was 32-34 € and a pack of Drum was 5€50.  How much was a pint?  Well, they were still expensive maybe 7 or 8 € each.  Now you've got Veuve Cliquot shooting up at to 39 or 40 € which, considering it is not for poor people or people without expensive tastes, not too incredible say about a 15% increase but Drum on the other hand is now what 15 € at least so an increase of 300 % is that correct?  

What is my point?  Life is more expensive?  Has my salary increased with the cost of living NO of course not.  My salary has gone DOWN from the hay days of living in the UK and having free room and board.  You reckon you had over 50 k net in salary back then and now you are rubbing pennies together on what?  34 k and a few bonuses in the most expensive city in Europe? 

yesterday I read an article of pure propaganda that the cost of living was actually going down.  Government propaganda bullshit cuntfucking liars.  Maybe dicksucking liars or sodomite liars, I dunno but liars all the same throwing little tufts of faery dust into the air telling me "life is grand, life is grand".  

It bloody well fucking isn't as they say.  

But I am meandering far away.  I am not living beyond my means or haven't lived beyond my means my adult life because of Paris or Kattia or the price of fucking tobacco and beer.  I have been living beyond my means because I want more for less, like everyone and I am less honest than the most gullible American (let's say your parents for example who followed all the fucking rules book by book and never deviated - look where that got my father, always pulled out of queues at the entry point into a country with his guilty look that was entirely unsubstantiated because if ever a man was never guilty of anything, that is my old man, Mr Clean.  Now HE never took on a debt he couldn't or wouldn't pay back.  There is a squeaky clean man so how did I veer so far off the course?  Well fuck of course, I simply did the exact opposite of every value my family held.  Why?  Because you watched them with your child eyes and they were fucking miserable.  I didn't not want to grow up miserable. So I lived beyond my means and broke the rules I didn't like, followed those which I thought were reasonable.  Aha, now you've unsheathed or encountered a CERTAIN KIND OF TRUTH.

So I know now why I live beyond my means and can feel redeemed and much cleaner about it.

But it isn't just rebellion against living misery bored and clean.  It is a rebellion against Boring Suburban White Middle Class as well.  Find the people in another culture, far from this rebel shit hole of America.  I was not born American even though I was.  I never had it in my blood, the patriot lust.

Think deeper than that.  Why foreigner, why Europe in particular?   I understand Argentina and that love affair for decades of course but Europe though, that involved no female.  That was established when I was a kid.  Something exotic.  Something not the boring, miserable reality of life.  I didn't hate life growing up did I?  Of course not.  I liked sports, I liked my mind, I liked my imagination.  I liked reading.  That was all I needed.  That is pretty much all I need now.  Sure, I prefer living with someone but that is social pressure, not wanting to seem like a loser or shadow paedo or creepy homosexual preying upon others like I see all the time creepy, sorry to say for those politically correct bullshitters but older gay men are fucking creepy there is no way around that - so sure I prefer living with someone so as not to be alone but I could have just as easily albeit far less fun, lived in America, worked in some stupid whore corporation, watched sports, be "that" guy whose whole stupid life was obsession with sports as a fucking distraction from being a loser OR I could have lived the life I did and let's face it, I am still armed with the tools to be alone (writer, reader movie-goer, head-in-the-clouds fantasist and dreamer, inventor or thoughts and stories etc) 

Speaking of inventing thoughts and stories, does anyone want to talk about lying?

No?  No takers just yet?  My life as a lie or the details of my life as a lie?  Bah, details are for losers.  If you don't like your reality make up a different one.  That, apparently, is what I always say.  Have no limits.  No truth hurts unless the wizard of oz is pulled back to show the world its own disappointment in itself for bad judgement or too much faith or the desire to have faith.  That is how I define it, the desire to have faith, just like a religion or somewhat like a religion, the desire to believe in something.  In someone.  The illusion of love which eventually becomes the desire to have what you have, appreciation for not being alone in this world in this life.  Because yes I am and have always been fully aware as if I lived it in another life, fully aware of the homeless fully aware of the solitude fully aware of the misery.  I don't want that yet I feel like I have been having flashbacks of my future for years.  

What about defining yourself as a drunk?  

Well, drunk with the caveat that there are sometimes months or weeks at the very least (currently what, 56 or 57 days out of 59 days ?) without drinking or without drinking to excess.  57 out of 59 days not drinking to excess.  Over the course of a year that would mean getting fucked up about 20 times or so a year which would be not only reasonable but far cheaper and certainly less disgusting to the opposite sex (Karen notwithstanding because she is the last drinker you think that you are in touch with - used to be Shari too but Shari and I are not talking as explained previously.)  Most any other girl or woman let's say, let's be realistic, I am not ever going to be dating girls or even young ladies any more or maybe nobody, maybe somebody like Kattia who does not seem at all to be 53 because she doesn't look it physically and doesn't act it emotionally or psychologically.  That is what you needed all along these years was a girl who does not look her age.  My last call in the decent girlfriend splash before I kick away.  Maybe that is why  I don't want to give her up.  I remember mope-walking Bristol maybe 10 year ago after breaking up with Shari and thinking to myself that was it, no more women in my life, no more love in my life and how could I have ever known that in the period that followed I refound Silvana, met Kattia and endulged myself with Ana Paula?  Just goes to show you, never count yourself out until you are out and how you are out, well you can never know so better to bet on winning than losing.  

And what about being a writer, the third in the trilogy of defining me, at least superficially...

Well yes, damn it.  Above all a writer, through thick and thin  Writing is what keeps the will to live burning. That home fire in the battle, that dream of peace and happiness.