Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal by Zach Wiener [website]
[h/t: pleatedjeans]
(via wilwheaton)
My shoulder hurts, and I can’t help but to wonder if it’s you, breathing down my neck, like you once refused to do. It weighs on me like the agony of a thousand tiny devils, insisting that I do their work in the dark, cramped annals of hell.
Today, I did.
Was it the walls that pushed me down, or my own refusal to dial down the tone? Was it Frank, telling me to self-destruct? Was it a teacher with a plan, a preacher, a message, some value? Or am I stuck here wondering the unknowable while somewhere 800 miles away the truth ll is still running from me?
Let’s talk about 800. Even better, let’s talk about 1-800. How you never called me with good news. Not even once.
Let’s talk about how FaceTime became NoTimeAtAll.
My shoulder still hurts. But now I know that it’s not you. It’s me. Some burdens are too heavy to carry 800 miles.
(via kamobamo)
Map Paintings, Paul Morstad
So my mom and I have been working the same waitress job for 5-6 years now. She had been waitressing years before, but this is recently. Anyway, about… 15 minutes ago this guy she waited on left and told her to take care. Just that. Prior to this she had talked to him about Italy. Her people are from Florence, this and that, and she said she’s never been. She’s got 8 years of art education and she’s working a waitress job. It’s pretty… Sad and disappointing, I guess. Her and my father divorced 6 years ago and she hasn’t had a real job ever. Just been stuck in a small town she’s not from.
This man who we have never seen before tipped her 1000 dollars for a trip to Italy. Walked out, not another word.
…you know. Just when I start to lose faith in humanity….Hm.
(via mybooktree)