apparently there’s suppose to be a stage in your “creative process” where you think your shit is complete shit but then you overcome that and it turns into some fucking masterpiece w/e. i think my shit is shit and i don’t want to do it anymore. i’m burnt out i dont care
I think that magic step isn’t about overcoming the shit but instead embracing the shit and making other people love it?
Yeah, your work might not be great in your eyes, but goddammit, you made it. Look at the art you find in contemporary galleries; most of the time, the craftsmanship isn’t stunning and the reason it has any impact at all is because someone made it.
"My four year old could have drawn that."
"Yeah, well she fucking didn’t."
I guess what I’m trying to say is: Sometimes it’s enough to make something, and sometimes you can dazzle the people around you with the act of creation so that they forget to look for actual flaws.
As for the burnt out part—let me know when you find the solution to that one. I have a hunch it involves beers and a few long cold bike rides, but I’m open to suggestions.
In the dating world, you’re either the one who cares more or you’re the asshole.
There’s always going to be at least a tiny bit of inequality between lovers because emotions are complicated. They don’t magically sync up so that both parties are on the exact same commitment level. (Unless you’re with The One, I think? I’ll do some research and get back to you on that.)
It manifests itself in different ways; one person usually texts first or sets up the dates or gives more thoughtful compliments. Even if it’s not readily apparent through those measurable details, both people definitely know who cares more about the relationship.
I’ve had four boyfriends and dated a whole slew of nice boys and weirdos. For a long time, I usually felt like the one who cared more.
(Click through for the rest of the essay.)
Do you remember the first time you heard The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place?
When you hadn’t even finished unpacking from moving into your first dorm room, when you weren’t yet sure if this was the right place for you to be? Do you remember how when you heard the first two minutes of “First Breath After a Coma” you wanted to turn to the person next to you and shout, “I think I get it now, I think I can do this, I think you might understand me,” but you didn’t? You just sat there smiling at the twinkle lights on the opposite wall. This is what college was supposed to be like.
Do you remember the first time you kissed someone with The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place in the background?
How you slyly (and so excitedly!) turned on the playlist you’d saved exactly for this occasion and turned off the bedside lamp? Do you remember the feeling when you breathed on the side of his neck while the raindrops added extra percussion to the cinematic music playing tinnily from your macbook at the foot of the bed? You added your own contented sigh to that percussion because you thought that you’d maybe you’d found the key to the kisses that you’d been looking for. You hadn’t, but the sunbeam reverberations floating around the tops of your heads told you that maybe things would be okay for a while. You were young, it was dark, your hand was in mine.
Do you remember walking around on winter nights with The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place playing through your headphones?
The way the guitars answered every question in your life more completely than any face-to-face conversation you’d ever had, although you couldn’t have articulated your own feelings if you’d tried? How the anxiety melted into a dull ache and it felt good to be alone? How you used it as a security blanket, as a bubble that surrounded you; nothing could hurt you while walking at 3:00 AM because you were under these street lamps with an old friend whispering a reminder in your ear during the only moment you were alone: The Earth is not a cold dead place. The Earth is not a cold dead place. The Earth is not a cold dead place.
The first responsive website that I’ve ever built from scratch went live earlier this week! It was a huge project and I had a lot of help (from the patient and talented Ivar) but I also learned to never underestimate the power of shouting at CSS until it does what you want it to.
Video for SexPositive, an app by the University of Oregon Health Center.
This was my first major start-to-finish project as Creative Director for The Venture Dept. Really fun, and I’m pleased with how it came out!
Nothing makes me feel the same emphatically gay dual-edged sword of insecurity and entitlement as two hours on tumblr.
I see thousands of images of attractive men in the full range from objectified sex toy to self-aware blogging man, all in control of the representation of their sexuality. Some are femme’d out in glitter and painted nails, some are wearing hyper-sexualized leather, and some just wear their shitty JC Penny brand jeans while they take selfies with their cats.
That wide representation of sexuality and self isn’t really how the world works or looks. (I think? Maybe parts of Brooklyn or LA or Paris are different.) I feel comfortable in my pseudo-hipster homo aesthetic, but sometimes I still feel self-conscious when I wear earrings that are just a little too big or a shirt that’s a little too fashion-forward. Sometimes I don’t feel in control of my own representation of my sexual identity.
By the same token, these boys seem to be everywhere. After scrolling through miles of half-naked men on the internet, it’s hard to remember that cute gay men aren’t available around every corner. Sure, we’re everywhere, but you can’t create a filter in real life to only see these people, like you might on the internet.
Closing the laptop and getting out of bed means walking out into a world where gender/sexuality politics are enforced, and don’t ever let anyone tell you that doing so doesn’t require at least a little bit of bravery.
Once some of these are done, I’ll put them here. (After I take a few really giant naps, that is.)
For Sincerely Truman.