I remember mine. It followed 12 hours of cheap wine, cheap vodka, dancing badly, avoiding all suggestions of food and smoking a cigar. The next day I couldn't talk or stand or sit still. Sitting in the bath made me vomit. Trying to leave the house made me sweat. I wanted company but couldn't form words and struggled with eye contact. It was a violent attack on my senses. I wept.
Looking at a Jackson Pollock canvas is like looking at my worst hangover ever.
No comments:
Post a Comment