Enivrez-vous

I tried to remember tonight when I was as drunk as I am tonight....and I realised that each time I got drunk it was because of the feelings I had for a man.

The first time it was during a vacation at the seaside in Romania. I drank too much white wine (since, I cannot stand it anymore) and than some vodka. The second time it was in Scotland and the third time again in England and it were because of the same man. Only once, in Brighton I got so drunk that I started kissing a foreigner.... because he was a foreigner (interesting motivation).

Last time it was tonight and again it was because of a man. I mean being in love should get the best out of a person but when it is not shared (as it almost always happened to me) it gets the weakest in me.

Being drunk or as the French put it “grisée” is so comfortable. I am not an alcoholic so I take the liberty, once in a while, to feel liberated of all my barriers (cultural, educational and emotional) and just be that part, hidden and incontrollable of myself.

The only problem is that even when I am drunk I am still, somehow and at some extent, in control and still so self conscious that I ruin most of the time this feeling of, lets call it for the sake of the simplicity, liberty.

And than, Baudelaire once wrote:

« ENIVREZ-VOUS

Il faut être toujours ivre, tout est là ; c'est l'unique question. Pour ne pas sentir l'horrible fardeau du temps qui brise vos épaules et vous penche vers la terre, il faut vous enivrer sans trêve.

Mais de quoi? De vin, de poésie, ou de vertu à votre guise, mais enivrez-vous!

Et si quelquefois, sur les marches d'un palais, sur l'herbe verte d'un fossé, vous vous réveillez, l'ivresse déjà diminuée ou disparue, demandez au vent, à la vague, à l'étoile, à l'oiseau, à l'horloge; à tout ce qui fuit, à tout ce qui gémit, à tout ce qui roule, à tout ce qui chante, à tout ce qui parle, demandez quelle heure il est. Et le vent, la vague, l'étoile, l'oiseau, l'horloge, vous répondront, il est l'heure de s'enivrer ; pour ne pas être les esclaves martyrisés du temps, enivrez-vous, enivrez-vous sans cesse de vin, de poésie, de vertu, à votre guise.

(In Les petits poèmes en prose) »