Kansas City Chiefs' Quarterback Len Dawson having a cigarette & a bottle of Fresca after losing the very first Superbowl in 1967

Profumo affair - Christine Margaret Keeler (22 February 1942 – 4 December 2017) 

I am a patient boy
I wait, I wait, I wait, I wait
My time is like water down a drain
Everybody's moving, everybody's moving
Everybody's moving, moving, moving, moving
Please don't leave me to remain

Once again, I've drunk wine. I like to tilt the glass upwards hard, and swallow as big a gulp as I can, and settle the glass back down.
Then, an odd duality emerges within me: fire inside, and ice along my arms, which raises my hair up. I love that feeling. Next, comes nausea, which has to be battled.
I sit or lie down, I know it will only last a short time. Five minutes, ten minutes tops. The nausea must be psychological: once drunk, it doesn't rear its ugly head anymore.
Or it might physical: the drunker I get, the less I feel my body. But how drunk do I aim to be? This is only a glass. I don't seek to obliterate my mind anymore.
The merits of moderation! What drunkard can lay claim to this absolutely magical "tuning in" to the world that the reasonable person accesses, after three or four glasses?
There is no doubt about it, this is a master-slave relationship. If you don't dominate alcohol, it will own you.

"February is nearly always melancholy."

- Anna de Noailles, tr. by Norman R. Sharpiro, from “Your Hidden Fleshly Grace,”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nKhKBNS1fPc

All we want is a head-rush
All we want is to get out of our skin for a while
We have nothing to lose because we don't have anything
Anything we want anyway...
We used to hate people
Now we just make fun of them
It's more effective that way

We don't live
We just scratch on, day to day
With nothing but matchbooks and sarcasm in our pockets
And all we are waiting for is for something worth waiting for
Let's admit America gets the celebrities we deserve
Let's stop saying, "Don't quote me" because if no one quotes you
You probably haven't said a thing worth saying

We need something to kill the pain of all that nothing inside

We all just want to die a little bit
We fear that pop-culture is the only kind
Of culture we're ever going to have
We want to stop reading magazines
Stop watching TV
Stop caring about Hollywood
But we're addicted to the things we hate

We don't run Washington and no one really does
Ask not what you can do for your country
Ask what your country did to you

The only reason you're still alive is because someone has decided to let you live

So what do you want?

You want to be famous and rich and happy
But you're terrified you have nothing to offer this world
Nothing to say and no way to say it
But you can say it in three languages

You are more than the sum of what you consume
Desire is not an occupation
You are alternately thrilled and desperate
Sky high and fucked

Let's stop praying for someone to save us and start saving ourselves
Let's stop this and start over
Let's go out
Let's keep going

Peste Noire - Dans ma Nuit

Pope John Paul II