Stop it, I can feel the heat generated between the folds of your heavily furrowed brow from here. It was that, “alcophilosopher” or “alcoholosopher” – with the former being okay, albeit a lazy compounding of the words, and the latter being a vocal clusterfuck. So which do you prefer? Besides, alcomist has a nice ring to it, right? No? Well it did for me after repeating it a few times (being intoxicated helped). Let’s move on from the title now.
Before we get into the serious stuff properly, I just wanted to have a little light-hearted post to provide gentle entry into the topic and to tacitly admit to the source of my recent insights. This is in no way meant to condone the consumption of alcohol and especially not as a way to deal with one’s problems. But, in my current situation and with all that’s happened before, and is currently happening, it seems to be what promoted me to an alcomist. Obviously, it’s kind of in the name…
Side Note
I always hate using that word, “philosophical”, to describe thoughts of my own because it seems like a desparate atttempt to elevate myself to some stature of significance, but I checked the definition and it fits. I think.
So, what’s an alcomist? Broadly speaking, it’s my inner-narcissist coming out and bestowing a unique title to an otherwise underwhelming person and/or phonemena. It’s just that, over the last few days at time of writing, I’ve had a lot of long sessions of rather intense self-reflection, scrutiny and philosophical thought.
It was immediately very evident that the common trigger and denominator of these sessions was the consumption of alcohol. This, in turn, made me reflect back on my time in Norway and the conversations I had with my host and her son – during all of which I was fuelled by rakı and, if I may say so myself, pretty fucking on point with my arguments and insights. If we go even further back, I had a particularly deep and varied discussion with an incredibly precious friend of mine and that, too, was alcohol driven.
a detachment of my true self from the pleb that immovably occupies my day to day thoughts and utterances
Perhaps, then, I’m an alcoholic intellect. I could be an alcohol powered philosopher to be immortalised as Aym Pissd. I’m sure some actually intelligent, and exceedingly brave, individual could come along and analyse this claim and make associations, links, and explanations as to why this is, or isn’t, the case and start putting together a profile for a psychiatrist. There’s even a chance that I possibly know just about enough myself to give it a shot, but I still find this current situation equal parts comical and alarming.
Maybe it’s related to the lowering of inhibitions associated with alcohol consumption, but instead of that detachment of action from scrutiny mine manifests as a detachment of my true self from the pleb that immovably occupies my day to day thoughts and utterances. Perhaps the lowered inhibitions are actually the removal of the societal shackles that prevent raw and genuine expression of thought and emotion. Maybe it’s the ascension from a typical human experience to one of a higher being not constrained by a mere three dimensions!
Or, maybe, I just chat so much more shit when the aforementioned inhibitions bid an untimely fairwell and my subconscious is cherry picking the occasions where it yieled something even remotely positive as opposed to admitting to those wherein the simple act of moving lead to serious injury and/or humiliation in a room filled only with myself and soft furnishings.
I don’t fucking know. I’ve still half a litre of rakı to get through – give me half an hour and I’ll get back to you. Or the emergency room.