Skip to content

Story 554 Sorrowful Drinker

After noon, he crawls out of bed. As in a common expression, the head is stiff as if being hit by a bat, and the two legs on the floor manage to balance. Her hair and oily face were dirty, and yesterday’s remnants deeply soaked into her hands. In my mouth, the smell of soju and makgeolli, and the smell of pork belly and green onions, which I would have eaten as a snack yesterday, is shaking. The wallet I picked up at Juseom Juseom shows shameful hunger after throwing up money.

Swallow the sensation of vomiting, and immerse the throat on which the saliva was raised with cold water. Reflected in the mirror of the sink where I walked hard, the miserable drive of the person who had been drunk yesterday. Yesterday’s memories are scattered with blank spaces like the album photos that weren’t captured in time and were empty in several places, and it’s just a story that’s gone. That is to say, they are the familiar faces surrounding the table, the common repertoires of being a president and a job, and a soju glass that has been drunk. This is a woman who wears red lipstick on the other side of the table, who keeps eye contacting, and another group of drunk syrube children she encountered on the street at dawn, and a horse running through the taxi meter excitedly.

Yesterday one friend pretended to be an anarchist, another friend pretended to be a liberal, and I probably pretended to be a nihilist. But everyone knew. We are just stuffed idiots. The feeling of vomiting once again.
Only then comes deep regret as if flowing. Why didn’t we cope with last night elegantly and neatly? I was so regretful for the same moguls of the past. The days I lost were the same, and I didn’t regret more days in my memory. What is the reason for giving the body the pain of infinite repetition and infinite regression? The body was not thirsty at all.

Was my dawn bright before the inevitable hangover came? When the spirit, which has been erect in the spirit of alcohol, jumps out of the body, I cannot but confess that I have tasted a sense of liberation. Yes, that sense of freedom. With an elevated mind, I pretended to be a philosopher. You vipers! The only thing we can dishonor someone like that is when we drank alcohol. We, no longer timid, rebuked the rational ones as if they were the last romantics of our time. Mental realists! Mental adherents! The glory of the victory that we won through alcoholism and swearing, we raised the glass and toasted the victory Wasn’t we the winner of the dawn?

no. I am confronted with the morol of the man who took the time far beyond noon. In a matter of hours, he is no longer a philosopher, no romantic, no more a winner. It’s rather a surplus man who took the loser’s mind. It’s a stuffed idiot. He is a drunkard who eats some health from a hangover. A feeling of nausea.
In the sense of defeat caused by a hangover, he grabbed the toilet and poured out undigested romance. I cried, but it was just the tears caused by vomiting. He sits astride on it while watching the debris sucked into the toilet hole.

Then i feel The paralyzed brain cells are clamoring and sizzling inside the stomach. Unlike my depression and feelings of defeat, my body moves faster than ever. Is it because of the clamor that the head is ringing and the inside is boiling? I am not a machine, but I sense that vibration. It is a kind of conviction. It is the vibration of life, and it is the confidence that you are alive. It is a wave of life that swallows a sense of self-doubt.

I threw off my clothes and poured cold water from my head. Did I drank for alcohol yesterday? no. I just drunk my mind. I was drowned in my mind, and my mind was just striking fiercely than ever. Amid the inevitable hangovers and regrets, isn’t my body beating fiercely like yesterday?

A group of presence surrounds me who is sick. When do I feel that I am alive When will I, who is rich with surpluses, realize my existence the most? Even in the pain of a hangover, I know. Yesterday I was specially human in my life. But I think of a healthier night. I think of the drunkenness in a more healthy state. Like the minds of those drunken philosophers and drunken poets in truth, I have to be an innocent drinker.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: