Southern Comfort and Soul Stuff.

"Can't stop what's coming, can't stop what is on it's way..." Just another intoxication. It certainly makes my obsessions clearer. And I speak in very cryptic and obscure sentences. Because for some reason, when I drink, I convince myself that I am plugged into some collective conciousness and those relevant minds hear me. I am however, merely drunk. Still, it would be neat if my mind was really broadcasting this. I suppose blogging it is as close as I'm going to get. Nobody really even reads this. I'm just a drunk girl with stupid theories, talking to herself.

Listening to Peter Murphy. I really like it. I think I've had almost enough Southern Comfort to...I dunno, actually, I've almost finished the bottle. Drinking makes me feel lonlier sometimes. It's almost as if my brain is disappointed that it doesn't get a response when drunk, even though I have no one to talk to but myself. I feel...not all there. But not in an insane way. I feel...partial. Is that normal? Do I make sense, or am I really further gone than I thought?

I think...this is really me. I need to drink and get over all the outward jumble to show my soul. If the soul is really...real. Too bad it's always late and when I'm alone. It makes me love me even more, I am fucking AWESOME. Anyone who disagrees, you are what is wrong with the world. I feel like the bright center of everything. Kiss me, I'm Irish. Or whatever, yeah, I am quite drunk.