Tonight I got Drunk and Started Writing.

About a boy. about Manhood.

He used and flourished in his complete and crippling confusion. Drunk, pacing, wondering. The entire world complicated and mundane in such a way that made him feel smaller and smaller until what was left may as well have disappeared. He lived, rather solemnly in the world which he created for himself, filling the silence, the voids with intermittent noise. Choking the emptiness with some abstract, cliche substance that danced through and around his life. The world, his world was some tiny, inconsequential microcosm of his environment. 

Our story starts, slowly, quietly with a boy. A boy out in the great big world searching for answers, more particularly searching for himself. A scary, large and abstract undertaking to be sure. But something about his journey seemed so harshly in contrast with everything else in life. We could chat about him shortly, the narcissistic, lonely, loving, confused, passionate, arrogant and selfless character who would make our story. The walking contradiction that will, at some point become endearing. the boy who will walk softly and slowly through the world until sunrise. Until the sun peaked above the mountains and danced with its pale, bright yellows across the clouds. But to chat now we may miss some spark, we may miss the elongated and complicated past, which at some point would. Will. Entwine with today to create the sustenance of the story. So instead of a trivial introduction perhaps we should begin, begin just now, with the story of a boy. A boy who somewhere across the journey becomes a man, oblivious only to himself. Near the end we will call him a man, for what he becomes, for the journey and its undertakings. Yet just as important to remember is that he never thinks himself a boy, nor ever imagines he could be a man. He just does, quickly, smoothly and before our eyes.