Please play this while you read:

K, read on.

Hemingway once said that you could tell how intelligent a man was by the way he held his alcohol. I guess the idea went like this: if two men, roughly the same size and weight, started drinking at a bar, and neither had tasted a beer in their lives, then the man who drinks the other ‘under the table’ has, according to Hemingway’s idea, a stronger intellectual prowess.  Perhaps it’s true; maybe I am an oaf / bro because I can’t articulate my arguments whenever I’m getting ‘schwasted’ / drinking joose.

I also can’t articulate my ideas or thoughts when I’m feeling ‘loved.’

It’s a known fact men suffer a loss in their abilities to conduct higher end decisions when they have a boner or are horny.  Men can’t win. Well, most can’t. But others will try. Like James Joyce.

(Marilyn Monroe loved James Joyce)

James Joyce loved his wife.  So much so that he often wrote letters to her, with pen and paper, transcribing his love and desire for her when he was often away.  The man was depraved, and often wrote with a kung-fu grip on his pen. Phrases like “I love you” and “I miss you” permeated his love letters, yet it was his penned desires to have her take a sloppy dump on his pasty white chest that we remember best.  The man may have written Dubliners, but he also had a dick, and when it got hard we got his dirty letters.

James Joyce’s literary achievements, in order from most talked about / respected, go as follow:

“You think perhaps that my love is a filthy thing.”
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Finnegan’s Wake

So here we have two items of discussion (being drunk / being in ‘love’) that maybe denominated by 1 theme: intelligence.  Do your intellectual capabilities diminish hard when you’ve thrown back a couple of brews or do they heighten?  Do you get frustrated with others who seem to be more emotionally inclined with their intelligence?

When you write, in love and with ‘a few brews in you,’ are you being more honest or are you speaking with a bruised tongue?

I recently had a sit down chat with my friend, MJ, about the content of an emotively / drunkenly fueled love letter he binged out one night to ‘that one girl.’  I was curious: was his letter articulate?  Was MJ putting it out there, saying it hot, getting it done / hard / to the point / while still maintaining some intellectual dignity?

Let’s find out.

What we have below is a guest post, containing a powerful letter of the romantic persuasion.  It has nothing to do with pooping, though.  But it’s still just as ‘juicy’.

The following is all by Michael J.


Letter preface:

Lost causes are still worth fighting for. Man should abandon the prudential arguments, and learn to wage their hearts in spite of err. I look back, in consideration of recent rejection, and do this unashamed; part of being a man is getting hurt. You may mock me for the cliches, but at least I have a chest. You have to put your heart on paper, to measure how big it is. Enjoy my sorrow and bliss.

“Dear ________,

The driving force of this message is the aphorism that a drunk mans words are a sober mans thoughts. I see the logic in it, but I also see the falsity of it in regards to the directness and lack of tact that one has in such a state; truth is not the correctness of the proposition being made, but in the sensible effects it produces. With this being said, I am using alcohol as a catalyst for truth, in hopes that it produces sensible effects for you.

First, when I write I am always conscious of the construction of it rather than the structure. The construction has to do with the way the words are arraigned, and the structure has to do with the flow. I am always, in letters to you, trying to doll up my words, in fear of being unclear and coming across overly simplistic. However, in doing so, I disregard my inner voice. Somehow, I equate the length of the words, with the depth of the meaning; this is not so. This letter, although it is grammatically correct up until now, is going to test these preconceived notions I have. The inner voice, that of the heart, is discursive, and often does not follow a path. It more than often zig-zags; but this does not mean it is not any less emotive. We put extra meaning into language, as if the language itself houses the concepts of love. I hope to break this trend I have, and to write in a purer from.

I’ve never loved anything or anyone as much as you. In fact, the way I feel for you is completely unique to you. I invented it solely for the purpose of comprehending you. You are without a doubt the most beautiful girl in the world to me. I go to sleep to the thought of you, and wake up to the memory of you. I see you in all else that is beautiful, as if the realm of beauty is merely derived from you; I invented the “beautiful” for you, and now all that resembles “beauty”, is part of you. I see your face in the sun, the moon, and the flowers. I hear your voice carry through the trees, as the wind converses with the leaves. I do not expect you to understand; I can only hope you to. If comprehension and belief in my thought are out of the question, at least do not turn away from me for expressing it.

No girl, no act of ‘affection’ from a singular body, and no force of the will can take your place. I would treat you better than anyone could ever; consider the notion of an all loving God… I’d still treat you better than that. I wish nothing more than to hold you. I tell myself over and over again that you love me in the deepest possible way that you can; this is what gets me through the day. If I, on paper, draw parallels between me and you in regards to a relationship, the only thing that is missing is the sexual act. Now, I am not saying I want that; don’t for a second get me wrong on that. I want nothing more than to love you unconditionally. I want you to be my Regina Olson… If you would know the story of that, it would be the most beautiful compliment you have ever heard. The only thing, at least in my mind, because this is the only way I can continue to function sometimes, that is missing, is the sexual aspect of a ‘relationship.’ These are societal standards, and I do not agree with them in the least. I would go without for an eternity, to hear you say “I am yours.” Perhaps this is a silly sentiment, but you told me that it is good to express what I believe. This is me doing so. Sadly, I could only do it drunk. I wish it was under better circumstances, but this is the only way I could pour my heart out to you. I hope you take it as it is, and do not filter or disregard it based on my intoxication. I assure you, I will wake up in the morning and still love you the same.

I do not expect anything, but this obviously does not mean I do not way anything. Of course, I would love to be with you. I know I will never be, and it tears at my heart. But, I still needed to just get this out there. Of course you know it all, but some thing in me just wants to scream it to you.

I love you, and I always will. You will always be the most beautiful girl in the world to me. I want to grow old with you, in any capacity you allow. I love you more than anything, and cannot imagine a reality with out you. You have come to embody so many truths to me. I want to be a better person at all times, because of you.

Jesus, I wish I could just express it the way I feel inside. It will never happen. But, the feeling you give me, could light the darkest room. I love you. I wish nothing for the best for you, and I know that is not me. You deserve so much in life, and if I could change myself to give it to you, I gladly would. I would do anything, if I could, for you.

My heart climbs the latter to my throat, with intentions to speak itself. It notices itself to be inadequate, and climbs back down the latter, this time to the cellar. My eyes fix on yours, noticing something new, but ever so familiar. It can’t be real, It can’t be real, but it is.

You will never see yourself the way I do, and it is a pity. You are perfect in every way imaginable. No one amounts to you, no matter how hard I try to fool myself.

I do not expect anything. I just needed to say this. I’m sorry.

I love you… in the purest way imaginable.”


Hope yall liked it. Please feel free to reach out to me, via e-mail, with complaints / <3.



  1. But isn’t it a known detail that Mr. Hemingway did not write under the influence? MJ, you maintained your intellectual integrity under such emotional intoxication. I admire your courage.

    1. Blanca, you are correct. However, I am not implicating that Hemingway wrote drunk; I am only using his idea of sobriety versus intellectual fire to segway into the focus of this post: Michael J’s letter.

  2. I think the question is, not whether the letter’s articulate, but whether it’s persuasive. The letter’s cliché-ridden. Now, whether his love minds is another question.

    “I am always, in letters to you, trying to doll up my words, in fear of being unclear and coming across overly simplistic. ”

    That thought, in itself, is simplistic. Editing is not “dolling up” words; it’s engaging in a conversation with oneself to figure and understand one’s thoughts in an expressible and true way. “Distillation.”

    Intoxication stimulates expression but hinders thought. Expression has its own benefits. It may widen the mind’s reach. Of course, usually, reflection is needed if expression under intoxication is to be of any benefit. How intelligent and emotionally pure is someone who cannot remember what they said last night?

    Hemingway’s belief, by the way, is characteristic of his male chauvinism. Articulating my thoughts is only one form of my intelligence. Creativity, intrapersonality, connectivity to the body, are other forms. I wouldn’t call an inarticulate savant unintelligent.

    What the letter does show, though, is devotion and love and that’s a feat and distance to reach in itself.

    A friend sent me this link. Just thought I’d comment. Thanks for the stimulation!

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