In 2005 you might have been caught up for no reason

It's 2006 and drunk and focused is already for the new year, I am talking big tings, more updates, more nonsense, more music, less being drunk and more being focused. 2005 was a wierd year for me, not gonna lie some real good things happened, but overall I am glad to see it go. Fresh Starts are needed. Anyway before we begun the nonsense here lets tie all the loose ends of 2005. First off is an article I wrote for a paper around my way called the Wire, yes some of that Proper Journalism I am now known to do once in awhile, I am saying proper grammer, research, and the ability to be drunk and focused at the same time. The article is on blogs and features interviews with that sally serg from beer and rap, one of houstin's finest Matt Sonzala of Houston So Real andthe radio show damage control, Byron Crawford, and my homeboy Chris Lemon Red, by the way happy birthday mayne, whose killing it in brooklyn these days. Anyway its all in the article and I bunch of links to blogs I check on the regular.
throw another blog in the fire.

Also in the 2006 be on the lookout for Serg's beer and rap holiday zine, I done got an article in there detailing an epic battle between 90210 and Dawson's Creek and 8 things I hate about us white folks. Also be checking back on the blog in 2006 for I am doing a retrospective of the first season of Dawson's Creek, I ain't fessin about that either, It's gonna be lionel ritchie hot.

Now onto the first post of the new year and its just some music I been listening to lately, ain't no top list of 2005 or some nonsense, I am saying serg already hit the nail on the head at so many shrimp with Stay fly, I am saying Stay Fly is the best song of the 20 05 and thats all you need to know. Anyway we gonna start with my favorite beach boy's albulm Pet Sounds. Nothing beats very depressive but realy poppy music, its wierd dynamic that works really well.

hang on to your ego.

wouldn't it be nice.

you still believe in me.

Next is a couple other tracks I been digging thats a little bit poppy. The first comes from Hymie's Basement (the albulm put out by Why? and Andrew Broder of Fog and ninja tune fame). Its called 21st Pop Century Pop Song and its about fun things like survivng a nuclear bomb.

21st century pop song.

Next is some rap music by freestlye fellowship before they fell off and started doing soundtracks for You Got Served and video game basketball soundtracks. This is for no reason and a song I really love for reasons most of y'all wouldn't understand.

For No Reason.

Last is a folk implosion song called nothing gonna stop. This song sounds ridicolously similar to a silver apples song which you can here in this mix I did in the summer ( a couple folks been asking me to repost this and since its now 2006, which means drunk and focused now cares about our reader's needs, I will honor their request, but still fuck yo couch you goddamn honkies, plus here is the link for tracklist and orginal post Orange Jubilee for breakfast to get me through the day mix here)
Nothing's gonna stop

To end 2005 I am gonna leave you all with a poem written by homie Fhrate, who passed away during this past summer. My man should have been the next great writer, he had the talent, and stories you wouldn't believe. But unfortunately his demons got the best of him. I will pour out one last maddog for him and then put that shit to rest. It 2006 and everything done changed.

The adverse effects of daily drinking become apparent after a few weeks: diminished appetite, subsequent malnutrition, nausea when one hasn’t had a drink, tremors or shaking hands, and anxiety. In advanced cases of prolonged drinking one might experience sensitivity to light and sound, especially bright light and sudden, unexpected or sharp sounds. Also irritability, agitation and...
INSOMNIA

A fifth of Mad Dog used to get me buzzed.
I’m up to about two-and-a-half fifths a night now.
Last evening I drank over a six-pack of tall cans and didn’t get drunk.
Nor did I get to sleep.
I haven’t slept in a while now.

We have a routine around here;
my roommate and I drink til about midnight
then he goes to bed.
I’d go to bed, but I haven’t got one.
Couldn’t sleep if I did.

Money’s gotten scarce lately,
now I have to sit up and nurse the same 40-ounce for hours.
It’s alcoholic psychology,
so long as I have a drink in my hand
it affords me a little comfort.
Otherwise I begin to panic
if there is no liquor
in the house .

On a good night I may have two 40's.

My malt liquor of choice has become so vile,
as to affront my embattled, food-deprived stomach,
that I have to cut the bitter liquid with water
to make it more agreeable.

I pour Camo in a glass and add ice cubes
but drunks do not make good homemakers
and the ice cube tray is often empty.
Instead of making a new tray of ice
I use the available ones sparingly.
One, two, three plop down into my tumbler
careful not to splash
thereby losing the precious contents
of my cup.


My roommate sleeps,
the apartment building sleeps
the world sleeps.
except for me
and my constant companion
a wide screen television.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart is hilarious
but I’m not laughing.
Strangers With Candy just isn’t as funny
when you’ve been up for four days.

After a week,
in vain, I tried
Valerian root,
Goldenseal,
Sominex and
Olde English in a futile
sleepy-time cocktail.

One night I took an amitriptyline
and got some blessed sleep for
about two hours.
Then was wide awake again.
There was no off-switch
for the live wire that was my mind.

My mind buzzes and races
(going nowhere)
it’s like a battery that wont
shut off.
4 o’clock, 6 o’clock...
Cursed sun rises.
Roommate will be up soon.

I am an alcoholic vampire
retreating to the cool comfort
of my darkened wardrobe vault,
but no solace is found -
live wire mind does not shut off,
deformed thoughts torture me.
Alcoholic cells beg for a sip
to quench the fire that smolders
and burns a hole in my mind’s
cataract clouded, idiot eye.

Roommate will be up soon.
Shame drives me into my closet cave,
to lie upon my 1-inch foam mat
and cover myself with splayed and open
mummy bag.
I am the Mummy,
fortified by endless fifths of Mad Dog,
countless quarts of rum, whiskey and Dr. Pepper
and untold gallons of Chillable Red.

Insomnia is not daunted by daylight.
Up is up.
Sleep is fleeting.
Even a nightmare would be welcome
in this dreamless world of no rest.

The mind reels.
red-rimmed eyes squint
against the wrath of
Helios.

Roommate will be gone soon.

Insanity looms like a mosaic pall
and is accented and realized
in clouds of kind green smoke.

My mind is a hateful playground
for dark and scampering things.
Little goblin girls teeter-totter
on the edge of my frayed psyche.

A huge and despicable creature
lives in the corner of the closet
in my room.
It wears my clothes and turns
the pages of graffiti magazines
and books I bought
and smokes the same brand cigarettes
when I (we) can afford it.

It is a pathetic wastrel
blanketed in a transient’s sleeping bag
and clothed in
humiliation, nervousness,
fear and self loathing.

A semi-nude, deranged
and dehorned satyr
who’s abused his lord’s gift
and suffers mightily
in the face of his
Bachnallian reprisal.

“Woe unto the drunkard.”

A wretched sod
who exists in the twilight,
jaundiced skin stretched
over fidgeting bones.

He curses those who can get a moments peace.

“Sleeping Beauty is a lying whore
who masturbates chemical burned
motorcycle enthusiasts in their
aluminum siding trailer homes
for soma suppositories.

Rip Van Winkle is a junky
who fellates unseen Chinamen
in otherworldly opium dens
for Demerol enemas.

The Sandman is a pusher
who doesn’t come to my
neighborhood
since I traded natural sleep
for bourbon induced comas.”

God I’m tired.
So, so tired...


Roommate will be home soon.