The title of this post is quite catchy. You could print it on a t-shirt or even use it as the title of an album. Of course, if you do use it, please compensate me with a generous sum of money.

Returning to Manchester has been exactly as I expected. Whenever I live here, I seem to end up feeling poor, wasting my weekend, and stuck in a rut. To distract myself from this despair, I turn to drugs and alcohol, which I have become quite skilled at. However, I am still trying to figure out how to balance my debt with my vices in a way that won’t lead me down the path of becoming a homeless addict.

I don’t mean to sound miserable, but it seems to be the easiest option when reflecting on pictures taken during a night out. If I had written this piece at the time the pictures were taken, I would probably be commenting on my absolute thirst and how amazing some generally uninteresting individual is. Sober, I don’t find these subjects as fascinating as I did when under the influence. It’s like Jekyll and Hyde or the Hulk and his alter ego. I’m the gurning gimp and the reflective nihilist. Although I don’t consider myself unique, I do have photographic evidence of my experiences from the morning after. I rely on these pictures to serve as my memories, and my brain has adapted to the fact that I will document my experiences digitally, saving me the energy of transferring new data to my internal hard drive.

Weekend

When I capture people or places under the influence, I am filled with childlike fascination. There is something I want to capture, but I am not entirely sure what that is, whether sober or not.

I am surprised that my camera hasn’t been stolen yet. I am often so inebriated that I don’t care if I spill my drink on myself or others while my camera is in my hand or nearby. It’s a miracle that I haven’t at least dropped it and rendered it useless by now.

I am living no differently than I did during my teenage years, and it’s killing me. Watching people around me who have already built their foundations for success. I wonder if their castles will make them happy or if they will end up at the top of their towers, wishing they had spent more time in the village with the peasants before declaring themselves royalty. For now, I will continue to play in the mud and hopefully find myself a nice hut someday. Living for the weekend until I drop.