August 2011
1 post
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the pebbles cut diamonds into my knees through cotton stockings as I part flowers and bushes in search of the bottle of winter’s woes. my memory of losing it is hazy, compromised, and wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, but you remember, don’t you? disposing the evidence of our drunken debauchery on the sidewalk before you carried me down the long driveway and into your bed. five months...
July 2011
3 posts
1 tag
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Vodka makes me slippery. Loose. More than disjointed— disconnected. My mind from my body and my limbs from each other, muscles and bones and ligaments become so much primordial ooze formed into a vaguely female shape. I slip into a lower level of consciousness, sub-aware rather than hyper-aware of the buzzing, spinning world around me. Words slip from my mouth, syllables and logic muddled...
3 tags
I opened my eyes and gently removed two hands from my waist. I sat up in bed as quietly as I could, but his eyes opened almost immediately. We shared eye contact for a moment, but I broke it as I reached for the messy floor, where my pants and t-shirt lay. I felt his eyes watching me as i put my clothes back on, but no words were exchanged. I placed my palm on my head in hopes of easing the...
June 2011
2 posts
1 tag
A mutual friend told me he got married after I left him.
“Well, good for him,” I said, to no one, stumbling down the sidewalk in a pea coat. “Good. For. Him.” I’m replying to the memory of the conversation. During the actual conversation, though, I laughed, told our mutual friend I had to go back home for an early flight, stopped by a liquor store, and drank my ...
1 tag
PROCRASTINATION
I shouldn’t put it off any longer. Not when I’ve known for so long.
That it’s not going to work. That although we look right together there is something totally missing inside.
I already feel like I’ve betrayed her. When I’ve done nothing but been the perfect boyfriend.
The perfect boyfriend that knows it is going to end.
That’s why I can be perfect.
I know I’m on a time limit.
Maybe I’ll tell her...
May 2011
6 posts
1 tag
Jameson just doesn’t burn like tequila. It doesn’t give you that just got punched in the stomach feeling vodka achieves. A welcome comfort to the cheap beer and inferior hard liquor (which is all of them in her opinion) she’s been putting up with. Beer is for drunk fucking, keeps you just sober enough to remain coherent to do the deed, and drunk enough to forget you...
2 tags
AN EXTRACT FROM "THE INVISIBLE THREAD"
The last time Fionn, Matthew and I were together before the plan reached its climax, we sat drinking in my kitchen until the wee small hours. There was a bottle of eighteen-year Talisker whisky being saved for a special occasion like this. Matthew didn’t know this was a special occasion, but it was a watershed in our relationship.
A drink like that is something to be enjoyed amongst the most...
1 tag
The alcohol crept its way down our throats slowly, calmly. No, the alcohol jumped down our throats eagerly, one drink after another. I burned my insides with straight vodka and chased it with a forty. The lyrics to the song we were listening to didn’t make any sense. They weren’t words, just letters jumbled together to make sounds. I think that was due to my level of intoxication,...
1 tag
Don’t call it a comeback.
judgeisonvinyl asked: where are you? i miss you. also, weren't you supposed to come to new york at some point? and i was going to buy you whiskey? don't tell me you came and left without getting your free drink(s).
jessica-clare asked: where have the whiskey monologues gone?
March 2011
6 posts
1 tag
“ “We borrowed golf from Scotland as we borrowed whiskey. Not because it is...”
– — Horace Hutchinson
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“I’m not drunk.” “You know that by just pointing out that you are not drunk it means that you are definitely drunk.” She sighed. “Damn vodka.” She put the half empty bottle of crystalline obsession on the coffee table to her right, where she would be picking it up and putting it down in the one-hour lapse. “You have now more Russian in your system than I do,” he chuckled. “Oh damn, Tommy,” she...
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SUMMER
The single drop of water slid down his the flat universe of his cheek like an autumnal leaf falling from an aged oak, or a ballerina in a terribly sad ballet. It clung desperately to his chin before plummeting gracefully to the floor, where it shattered, glass-like, and sparkled as if it had become a thousand something diamonds. The droplet sunk into the cold grey concrete only to remind him...
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FOR NOW
It’s on nights like these that it’s the hardest. The nights where even my 800 thread count sheets can’t bring comfort from your side of the bed. These nights are not unfamiliar to me. They’re like laundry. You just keep throwing it in a bag, in hopes that it will clean it self out. Until eventually you have to sift through it and deal with the stains, rips, tears, marks and scuffs that you...
3 tags
WHISKEY DREAMS
I’ve had men look at me like that, but never quite the way you do. I wear my tall boots and raglan shirts and sway around at some shitty dive with whiskey in one hand and a beer in the other. You follow me with your eyes, one hand hooked under my hemline, fingertips like a whisper across my skin. I smile and lick the last bits from the shot glass rim, stubbornly claiming that Uncle Jack is my...
2 tags
WHISKEY SOUR, PLEASE.
We talked about troubles over cocktails and doubles. Ongoing in her case, long past in mine. Poor kid thought the bastard in question was some diamond in the rough, as if good intentions and ample compromise was enough to make any asshole change their stripes. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that, no, sorry, you’re best off without him. I did, however, buy her another drink. ...
February 2011
14 posts
3 tags
END OF THE WEEK
He pulled into the driveway, grabbed his jacket and briefcase off the back seat and unlocked the house.
Slinging his stuff on a kitchen stool, he took off his tie and loosened the top buttons of his shirt. Grabbing a beer from the fridge he moved out to the balcony.
He sat. Stuck his feet on the patio table. And took a long pull of his beer.
Friday beers taste the best. A “happy”...
1 tag
FOR SCOTT
Every evening at about eight-thirty My body demands drink with firm maturity My head will swim and stay submerged Myself and me must now diverge The gin will seem to loose the tether This sin will not repay me, never And ever after hosts proclaim “You’ll not come to my home again!” Submitted by Anonymous.
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Because the night is too long, but the whiskey tastes good, and the star I wished on last night moved to someone else’s sky (that could mean the wish is coming true, but I’m giving up until the next comet…) The back porch is quiet, but the rain is getting loud. I should go in where it’s dry, but this drowns out unrelenting thoughts and lets me just pretend. Drinking in the...
1 tag
We always seem like a force to be reckoned with, but what it comes down to is a shit fist full of glass waiting to punch you in your own gut. We’d stand on the sidewalk, Subway cup full of vodka, smoking cheap cigarettes and hearing catcalls while the night creeps in around us. You never fooled me into thinking you were anything more than poison, anything less than cancer.
My eyes were...
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“ “I decided to stop drinking with creeps. I decided to drink only with...”
– — Ernest Hemingway
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DIRTY WHITE WOMEN
dirty white women judge me and scold me and say, ‘you’re a drunk, ya know’ they say, ‘you can’t keep this up forever, ya know’ but I ignore them, these dirty white women, these awful women I judge them and I scold them and say, ‘you’re a snatch, ya know’ and say, ‘you can’t be so goddamn dreamless forever, ya know’ but they ignore me, these dirty white women. Submitted by Calen...
hmmmthoughts asked: I get so depressed when I read a majority of the whiskey stories. Why are all the whiskey stories sad. I love whiskey and I think that it has a happy side too. Maybe I will try and write a happy whiskey story.
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SLUR
You were drinking from a glass that was made in France, but I didn’t know it at the time. I just sat on the floor by your feet, trying to forget history. Our history.
But it’s near to impossible, you know. It’s been years of this, the on and off romance, the nights of drinking ourselves numb in different bars after hours of vicious verbal sparring. We are so wrong for each other, yet...
2 tags
EAST
I can’t even pretend that’s why I was drinking, I was at the bar when I got the text. But it gave me more of a reason than I’ve left the house today. I was celebrating being outside by drinking, but I’d left the house purely to drink. That’s what it had come to. Everyone keeps telling me it’s up to me, that I have a choice in the matter. “No hard...
4 tags
REMINDER
I stood before the floor to ceiling bookshelves, running my fingers over leather-bound editions and watching the gold letters flash with the passage of ceiling fan blades. He had quite a collection, especially for a man his age. Especial and in my heart, set apart and above, by my love for him and his mind. “What are you doing in here?” he asked. I turned to find him gesturing to me with the fifth...
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PUNCH DRUNK
A poem should pack a punch. Like whiskey, it is distilled, Filtered, increased in potency. Single malt, like a poem, Is best sampled neat. It is a pleasure often Indulged alone. After all, one should Always give it One’s full attention. Poetry can be dry and peaty, Light and sweet, Smoky and intense. Burn the back of the throat; Leave you with a sore head. Whiskey and poetry...
1 tag
REST IN PEACE
i can’t drink liquor anymore. i’ve read somewhere that this is a typical statement of alcoholics who are trying to justify their continued use of alcohol - “i’ll only drink on weekends” or “i’ll only have __ drinks tonight” or “i’ll only drink beer”, things like that. i’ve used all the above, at different times in my life.
...
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“ “Work is the curse of the drinking class.” ”
– — Oscar Wilde
January 2011
16 posts
2 tags
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Will you get old, old fashioned with me? I was laying beside you, honest and bare, nothing to hide. The darkness stole our vision, the instant where our eyes would lock. I couldn’t see your face, but I hoped it offered a look of contentment, I hoped your eyes were smiling. You traced the outline of my body up to my jawbone and pulled me towards you. I always thought these kisses were a fair...
2 tags
remember when we thought we were so smart, smoking cigarettes in the coffee shop, the only place in town where you could still smoke inside, i don’t think you can anymore but i haven’t been there in years, you were reading beat era poetry outloud and i was sipping coffee mixed with whiskey because i had just discovered that somehow, there was some way to make you look even prettier, i...
1 tag
SEX AND NOSE CANDY
We have the same song on repeat the entire time. Roger Waters of Pink Floyd and Van Morrison, and somewhere in the background you can hear a cast of thousands singing along. On the bed is me running my hands over a body hard and slender and lithe. In the dark her skin glows moonlight-pale and her hair is a curtain of night, a swathe of shadow in silk and lace. My blind fingertips read a love...
1 tag
Professional deconstructionists. Perfect liars. Pitiful souls. We ache so hard people can hear our robotics failing. We talk like June sunshine and touch like velvet gloves. People make movies about this shit. Our emptiness could fill every ocean Barron twice. We practice our wink and our half smile. We got it down now. We’ve been putting bets on who can melt someone fastest. So far my...
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VARIATIONS ON A THEME
jcspaceships asked: do all these words you write just come to mind and you write it down? or do you sit down and plan it out? x A great time to be asked this question. While we can’t speak for submissions, original pieces are planned out. They typically stem from a real event and are only occasionally embellished so, when it comes time to transcribe them, we apply some forethought. ...
2 tags
MIDNIGHT STRIKE
She was standing in the room with her drink up in the air, screaming “Happy New Year” with a clear conscience that she wasn’t as happy as she may have sounded. She went around with her open arms ready to welcome the first hug of the year, when distinctly, she hoped it was from the man with the Canali scent. She made a round of kisses and maintained herself in order to keep the happy...
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3 O'CLOCK
It’s 3 o’clock and the whiskey is kicking. And fuck if I’m not here sitting, reminiscing. Not for sordid hopes of rekindling. Not praying salvation for memories dwindling. Rather, quietly sitting, listening to the distant sounds of settling. The writing was on the wall for damn near long as I can recall. But there is something so elegant in the fall. It’s sudden motion baby, and the beauty is all...
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A 2009 bottle of Jim Beam Kentucky Bourbon met its match this morning just before noon at the hands of a 20-something malcontent born under the sign of Aries.
The death was swift but nonviolent.
The Jim began its life in Clermont, KY, and was adopted in Columbia, MO, in 2009, by the same woman who finished it off. It had been in decline for more than a year, taking a turn for the worse in...
3 tags
I can’t forget the events of those nights The taste of whiskey in your kisses The smell of it on your breath I’m haunted by the feel of your hands And the soft curses spoken I remember every whispered promise Those of love, marriage and a family I remember the night those promises stopped And all that remained was the whiskey The burn of it all going down I’ve tried to drink away these memories...
1 tag
AN ANGEL
this half-asian broad,
she came over
every now and then.
(more then than now)
and every then was night
and every night
was worse
than the next.
she’d sit there,
all awkward and twisted up
in all sorts of unsaid sayings,
this broad.
she’d sit there,
half on the bed
and half somewhere else
but hell if I knew where.
she’d come over,
she’d go straight
to my bed
without any...
1 tag
I hadn’t really thought much of that night until today. I’m not sure what brought it into my head. Perhaps it was passing the neighborhood within which you reside, or being tailed by a car that looked ominously like yours. But it got me thinking.
About when things were really over. I hadn’t expected your text message, but it wasn’t out of the ordinary either. It was only 9:30, and you said...
2 tags
Baisley Packard spends his New Year’s Eve in the glow of Gloucester Street’s slow red light. He shares fingers of scotch with his best friend, Jack Sun, as they mourn the loneliness of old age. Cheap swags of holiday tinsel hang from Baisley’s wheelchair, rank with some dead girlfriend’s perfume. He scrapes his mind to remember a name as the memory of her, pulling gently,...
December 2010
17 posts
2 tags
A CAJILLION AND FOUR, OR, AN ARGUMENT ENTITLED...
So I’ve been drunk for seven and a half hours, and I am certainly thinking about, oh, a cajillion and four things but definitely not you. You. You and the way you always look best with your hands on my face and my lips on your sweet spot ever since I first spotted you or you spotted me, that time the sunlight perhaps just happened to hit my eyes just right and we knew that I would...
1 tag
IF I DIDN'T LOVE HER, I'D STILL HAVE MY TEETH
falling down drunk, stairs lied to my face and rose one step ahead of my nose; black eyes glitter above shattered smile. she didn’t push me that hard, but i fell for her just the same. my Dominatrix never has to scream my name; i was born to heal. Submitted by David Benson.