Money, energy, confidence, freedom, taste, madness. The good stuff
By: Day
I have not blinked in forty minutes
The espresso and I have reached an understanding.
The cigaret in my mouth is on fire and so is my soul.
Wednesday. Possibly Thursday. Hawaii. I lost track around the fifth espresso.
I HAVE TRANSCENDED SLEEP AND TIME THANKS TO A LITTLE BEAN.
Window wide open. Ocean air coming through the villa swarming all around me. Salt on my tongue. Mezcal afterfumes still hanging around from a night I remember in flashes, like God edited the security footage for my own protection.
Bukowski to my left like a guard dog.
Hemingway to my right like a war buddy.
The Bible at the head of the table because God always gets that seat and I am not the man who fights Him for it.
Daisy is doing some stretching workout shit (yoga maybe . . . ) in the front room in a way that has historically caused me to lose entire afternoons.
I am pretending not to notice. I am noticing extremely.
I am 26 years old, I have already lived seven hundred lives, and I am typing this at the speed of a mammal trying to outrun its own pulse.
Figured I’d hand out the cheat codes before the morning wears off and I become responsible again, which sounds horrible and should be avoided at all costs.
Every weird, illegal feeling, deeply suspicious thing that drastically improved my life.
If at least three of these don’t make you want to ruin a relationship, quit a job, book a flight, buy white linen, kiss your girl harder, or start a fight , I have failed you and you should sue.
Try a couple. Try all of them.
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