Alcohol is the catalyst which slows me down so that everything overwhelms me, by which the profane becomes profound, in which patterns emerge in the chaos, and for one brief moment I find god. Everything suddenly makes sense, because I am too incapacitated to hold all the infinite possibilities in my head.
Divinity by chemical Dunning-Kruger.
No wonder the Franciscan monks found god through beer. Take away all possibilities, and the obvious solution is the only path you can see.
God by divine chemistry.
Longtime subscriber, here. That is an achingly beautiful prose quip, old friend. Thank you.
I hope you’re well.
Thanks. I scrawled this in my notebook journal while in a tottering stupor, and decided to transcribe it here the next day while it was still relevant.
I, well, I’m OK. I look forward to your missives.