An outlet for thoughts that might otherwise never be voiced.
As an adult those kool-aid things taste like disgusting liquid sugar. I have five and a half left, any takers?
Tonight the saucer and tea cup be wed. Sip slowly and relish life, but be afraid. If you spill what’s inside, you will burn
"Rap and bitches, rappin’ bitches, bitches and rappin’, rappin’ and bitches"
This is my favorite line from Drake’s Underground Kings. Cool, right?
I just ended my day by eating the most delicious corn on the cob, ever. With the salt shaker perched nearby (so as to apply constant seasoning) and one hand bracing my famished body on the counter I tore into that little cob. He was so delicious.
Oh God, I missed this feeling.
—My life is one big vicious, and ridiculous, cycle
Brian Doyle, in his short story Pop Art, writes:
To them you are a stone who has always been and will always be. When they are ill they shrivel. To father them is not a brief noun but an endless verb that exhausts, enrages, edifies, elevates, and educates. I am a thinner and grayer man than I was; and closer to joy.
My father turned fifty-one this month. He has been my stone, for years, and has grayed before my brown eyes.
—It’s been so long, but I’ve still got it
I would form a list of grievances against the world, but I’m the only thing wrong with me.