Drunk. Sober. Write? Wrong.

Started at five. Moved onto six. Broke through the seven. Now dancing past eight. My night owl is soaring at the moment. Sleeping times are on their head. Night is now day. At least the book is being churned out. Churn on. Cave-like lifestyle. Living in and running around my head. Which I’ve realised has resulted in me sporadically zipping between two different kind of moods. Frustrated. Pumped. At times annoyed. Other times delighted. Over and over. Finally the penny dropped. Depending on the event or story or whatever I’m re-writing about, that emotion builds up and kicks in, inside my head. Which makes writing any good story a great laugh to do. And makes me highly frustrated after writing a frustrating story. Strangely, I am now living vicariously, through, my, self?

Purple Rain

Last night was my one night of venturing out of the cave in about a week. Night off. DJ on. Never actually been to the club before. The Purple Lounge. Cool venue. Very purple. I am a fan. If you want to see how purple, lick here. Dizzyingly purple. And yes, I know, a club is a club. Whether in Ireland or Hollywood. Four walls and a sound system. Just that one might be slightly cooler. And have a larger quantity of quality, eh, drinks. And self praise is no praise. I know that too. Biased opinion and all. Plus I did have a couple of drinks. However, other people’s praise works fine for me. The Purple was rocked. Purple Rain all the way. Chowder and I had them dancing, go on the duo! Hollywood circuit on. Giddy up that there ladder!

A Dummy's Guide To Spinning

On that note, another realisation came about last night. And here is how. Finished up our set. Main DJ’s came on to finish her off. Might as well have a few boozes. Rude not to. At the bar. Buddy grabs me to do a shot with her. Yanks my chain. Piece breaks off. See it on the floor. Fixed. Dancing. Few minutes later, a random girl grabs the chain for some reason. Round two. Wuu. Main piece falls to the floor and scuttles off. In a club. By the bar. Can’t see it. Balls. I like that chain. Sentimental if nothing else. Time to find the piece that came off.

Phone. Light. Head down. Almost on my hands and crouched knees. Needle in a wahey stack. Wait, shiny thing over there? Wuu duu. Bee line. Head bumps into something. Pick up the piece. Look up. Hot girl. Eh, sorry for bopping your crotch, how’s it going? Look of disdain. No interest. And then, a perk kicked in… ‘Were you just spinning?!’ Spin.. oh DJ’ing, I was indeed… and away we go. (They love the word spinning here. Throws me off every time). Apparently, a lot of girls appear to have always wanted to be a DJ. Life ambition. If only they had someone to teach them. Oh my Gawd can you teach me? Let me mull it over. Perhaps once my cave ways are over. Few lessons were pencilled in. All about passing on whatever knowledge one may or may not even have. Obviously. All that. Teach on.

Club over. Party on. Just around the corner. A very long corner. Jazz tunes were pumping en route. Felt like Frasier Crane by the time I got out of the car. Party. Random people. Random chats. Gibber me up. Chatted to a girl about my dislike for the feel of sanitizing lotion. Deep conversation. She loved how it felt. Loved to use it. The feel reminded her of something. Can’t remember what. Tadpoles? Good chat. Good party. Home for about 5 bells. Tad drunk. Skunk. And like an ape. Did not go to bed. Nay. Seeing as it was so early in the morning, my brain informed my body that it was still too early for me to sleep. With my new routine and all. Might as well have a productive bout. Do some writing. Sweet Lord. Worked well. Complete nonsense.

Drink. Right. Hungover. Write.

Which is why I no longer think that Hemingway’s quote of ‘Write drunk; edit sober’ really fits the bill like I thought it once did. Personally, I’m going with: Drink; write hungover; edit sober. Tremendously insightful gibberish! Floating around my space-like thoughts today. In my highly hungover state. Which is a great state to get the off-the-beaten-track way of thinking flowing. As long as you can grab them with paper. A few new gems for the book. Well, I’ll have to re-read them again now I’m fully sober. And seeing as it is only 3 am, the night is still young! Time to go write on!

Unfortunately for the sake of this blogaruu, the first song is from silver and not purple. Fortunately, it is pretty slick. Second one is a majestic classic. A mighty remixaruu had the place pumping last night.

Call Me (I’ll Be There) – Silver Disco

Lady - Modjo

Tags: Call Me (I'll Be There), DJ'ing, Ernest Hemmingway, Frasier Crane, Hollywood, Lady, Modjo, Night Owl, Party, Purple Rain, Silver Disco, Standard, Sunset, Write Drunk Edit Sober, Writing