Please note that I wish the querulous, garrulous drunkenness that will inevitably ensue to be interpreted, not as something squalid, but rather - a la Kerouac - as a vivacious, life-enhancing affirmation:
the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace things, but burn like fabulous roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center light pop and everybody goes "AWWW!"
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