Just when did absinth go out of fashion? Was it right after Moulin Rouge came out? Has the green fairy died and gone to AA?
I remember the late 90s in London, when the tipple in question became legal again… If ol’ Hemi and VanMan Gogh sucked down the green stuff, I knew I had to do it too. For the university student, there is something completely irresistible about the combination of ‘bohemian’ + ‘artist’. We were hanging out in a dark club in Soho and I was browsing the booze list, sporting the bored look of coolness, when my eyes suddenly tripped over the big A. Not a whole much later was I leaning over the counter, looking up and down the long ebony legs of the girl mixing it. I paid Â£10 for that one, ooh it was never as perfect. Soho night turned muddy and the cheeks went all apple.
Now, however, I have a bottle of Hill’s Absinth from Prague that has been gathering dust for years. I serve it now and then to unsuspecting guests, but I can’t seem to find people crazy enough to empty it. I invite anyone over to my place to have a go at it! No… strike ‘invite’ and replace with ‘challenge’!
in the streets, underneath the stones
like insects, the words hide
at once I morph into a tamandua tetradactyla
(and you wish you knew what the hell that is…)
The cruelty of it. I’ve seen my own personal sweetspot in hell. It is Kenneth Branagh in Celebrity, and Paul Giamatti in Sideways. If I over the years morph into one of them, or a combination, do fire a gun in my direction. Multiple times. Until klick klick.
Wait… not if I drive the Aston Martin Kenneth’s character drives – then you must let me live. And if the polymorphously perverse Charlize Theron is in the passenger seat – why, then you must absolutely let me live.
I was born 10th May 1974. That’s where it all starts. That’s really when I first wrote this post. Most welcome, my virgins, to take a sip of the epicurean drink, or if you are hungry, a bite of the tree of knowledge.
I offer you no statements here, no grand manifestations, no bladder masterplan. The only propulsion is my ego. The only tools are history and future. It is nothing else but my playground. This is where I build my sand castles, and yes, from where I can see the end of the sea.
If I don’t love you, I hate you. But I love to love and hate to hate and I will, I will, I won’t, I won’t. Wo/men, wo/men! I’m on a mission to really rev my propellers, to push death so far away life will reveal itself from behind!
Be under nada illusions – I write for myself and no one else. It is 100% pure uncut gonzo, the drug of choice for egoistas with ghetto stroll cloud control. In time, I will introduce myself – but only when I find myself. I hope it won’t be too long now – I have already waited more than 30 years. You can help me, you sophisticated sociopath, although I don’t quite know how. As long as you are not yourself, everything will be fine. Come on. Give the equilibrium of the world an elbow in the stomach. Come on, just do it.
So, let’s have some fun while we watch the ice melt in the sun. The time has come to empty the bladder…