Countercultural, my ass

Why do some people seem to think there is a romance to being wasted? Drunk, stoned, on pills, coked out, whatever - there seems to be a sub-culture (mostly male, but with some women thrown in, probably out of sex) that (who?) worship at the altar of Hunter, Bukowski, John Kennedy Toole, etc, and think being f-ed up is poetic. When, really, it's crappy.

The saga of my long-ago ex, S, continues. I think he's mostly suicidal, but somewhere in his logical brain he knows it's stupid to kill ones-self, at least all at once. I think in his poetic brain, the one that writes stories and poems and lyrics, he believes life could be better than it is, and that's the other thing.

I don't know. I understand a minor self-destructive streak, we all have one. And I understand some low-self-esteem - I think anyone who says their "life is perfect, I have no problems" (N will understand where that quote came from) hasn't really explored themselves very well, or is in denial, or some combination of the two.

I have to go and finish getting ready. D&Z are broadcasting from a bar again tonight, and I need to be there in 10 minutes. Thank god it's less than a mile from my house. :)