I’m not too big on brandy but I can enjoy it. I’ll drink whatever you put in front of me, really. Though I’d prefer the honest good shit. I don’t buy into any of this idealised bullshit anymore. Just wing it and be done with it. Write the damn thing and move on. It’s just words and this is just a page and there’s a time and a place for it all.
Idealism only gets you about as far as the back door, and then the boot comes to get you the fuck out of there. Nobody wants to listen to your ramblings, no matter how fucking cool they might be. If the sky is this translucent glop through which we stare through, so be it. Don Draper says it’s all about moving forward, Don Draper ended last season in a drunk tank and he’s all about looking back now. Sorry/not sorry for the spoilers there. You can’t be what you want, you have to be what you are. Anything else is vague mythology, and nobody’s got time for that anymore. Drink the brandy. There’s a truth in there, somewhere. Know it, hear it, smell it. It’s part of you. There’s no real destination, just this dumb passage you walk to/from the cafe everyday. You’re just ruled by a clock. That thing hits the next second and you’re whole life is all hang tied and cockholded.
Drink the brandy. Just fucking drink it. Grow some damn balls and don’t sip that shit.