Maybe love will be like driving. When people move—when they travel—they look where they’ve come from, not where they’re going.
READ A BOOK INSTEAD
I made an iPhone wallpaper for you.
Austin Kleon was the first speaker at our CreativeMornings/Austin chapter. He speaks on the mass fetishization of creativity, work, process, and life. Watch his talk here. →
A Litany of How To Drink Too Much on New Years
37: What was your best experience with drugs or alcohol? Your worst experience?
The prediction that I vomit tonight. The promise that I won’t.
The friend who moved Stamford. The friends who came in from
Virginia and Chicago and far away Brooklyn. The way I cannot
tell them how much I have missed them. The train ride to Stamford.
The riding in the trunk. The dinner at the ex-girlfriend’s who also lives
in Stamford. The way I am cool with this because we are all lonely
and she can cook for a crowd. The emergency whiskey in the freezer.
How every whiskey is now an emergency. How I loosen like a poor
bowtie knot. How wine tastes good with everything. The free wine
and no one is watching me. The ride back to the apartment. The jumping
in the driver’s seat. The joke is that I’ve been drinking and everyone
thinks I’m hilarious. How that was always the point, making the joke
before I can be one. The drink for a friend in beer pong. The drink for
a friend is slapcup. The drink for a friend in flipcup. The countdown to
the ball drop. The girl like fire who left in December. The girl like fire who I
know will hurt me again but I still text her. The girl like fire who four time zones away so these drunk texts at 8pm her time. The ex-girlfriend who leads me
outside. The steps that are so comfortable. The growl “I just want this to be
over” again and again. The stain still in the hallway. The confirmation that
I have fulfilled the prophecy. How I gave them what I wanted. How this
is what I wanted. The sleep. The finally asleep. The burning of 2013 the
only way I know how, doused in alcohol, burning me in the process.
Just finished Ready Player One in 36 hours
and in case anyone wanted to know, I am the biggest nerd I know.
(ALSO IT WAS SO EFFING GOOD UGH HOLY FERRIS BUELLER IT WAS AMAZING)
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotion know what it means to want to escape from these.