A cocktail for the ages
My manners, abominable at times, can be sweet. As I grew older I became a drunk. Why? Because I like ecstasy of the mind. I’m a wretch. But I love, love.
Jack Kerouac, Satori in Paris (1966)
Jack was the first in my series of Drunk Authors. I listened to Blues and Haikus on repeat while I made this. It was interesting to listen to his voice while trying to capture his image. A 9×12 inch woodcut.
That’s the problem with drinking, I thought, as I poured myself a drink. If something bad happens you drink in an attempt to forget; if something good happens you drink in order to celebrate; and if nothing happens you drink to make something happen.
Charles Bukowski, Women (1978)
I have this disease late at night sometimes, involving alcohol and the telephone. I get drunk, and I drive my wife away with breath like mustard gas and roses. And then, speaking gravely and elegantly into the telephone, I ask the telephone operators to connect me with this friend or that one, from whom I have not heard in years.
Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five (1969)
I don’t think Kurt was considered a drunk for most of his life, and he always worked sober. I also don’t think his second marriage went very well. In his later years, he resembled a drunk genius. Crotchety and brilliant. A 9×12 inch woodcut.
I drink because it’s the only time I can stand it.
Truman Capote, maybe…
Capote was the last of the original series. Particularly drunk. No one bought it, so I sold it as Philip Seymour Hoffman. A 9×12 inch woodcut.