Taking a leisurely stroll down old king east, I walk down the historic district consisting of aged shops and small vintage stores. With a casual outfit of Topman, McQueen and Converse, I step down the street admiring my surroundings. Walking up to a blue and white tattered store front, I feel inclined to take a step into the seasoned abyss that awaits me. As I open the door, I stand in awe over the complete and utter mess in front of me. With each step I take I am avoiding book pile after book pile. This store clearly has character and age for it has been open since the early year of 1968. As I walk through every aisle, I find myself dodging stacks of large bound books. Scanning the shelves, I see that the store is terribly unorganized for the topics of each novel in one section can range from Hitler to Julia Childs…both do not necessarily go hand in hand. Ever since the abrupt closing of Nicholas Hoares book shop, I have been missing the sense of belonging found in a crowded book store. I am not entirely sure how to describe this foreign love of mine, but I cannot really fathom how much I adore the sense of comfort that a used book brings to me.
With novels lining the walls and classics surrounding the floors, you can’t help but be overcome by the scent of abused book pages ready to be read. With the stench of pages filling my nostrils, I exit the store and enter an aged cafe prepared to write.
Admittedly I have been a tad down lately. Ever since school has started I have been jn a flux over my program, and if it is the correct choice for me. To be perfectly honest, I have no fucking clue what I want to do with my life, and in the future… I mean, I do not even know what I want to do tomorrow night let alone the rest of my life. Each day of questioning has ended in the exact same way: wine, Marlboros, and a hell lot of coffee.
In complete honesty, I am incredibly thankful for Americano for he has really helped me to push through the hard times and become stronger. With Americano by my side I have been able to push away my bad habits and find a salvation deeper than I have been able to know before.
In terms of my education, I just feel as if I am in a program that does not necessarily cater to exactly what I want to do in the future. The one thing that gets me, is that I complain over how I necessarily do not connect with my program material, yet I have no clue what I would like to do in the future.
Here I am living in an apartment I can barely afford, making minimum wage in order to get by, and writing down my feelings in order to maybe one day go somewhere bigger with my writing. Maybe it is all a pipe dream, but isn’t it the pipe dreams that actually push us forward and bring us towards actually achieving our goals? My goals have never been attainable. I think that in my childhood I only really thought in pipe dreams. I wanted to act in film, I achieved it. I wanted to model, I achieved it. I wanted to be a published poet, by god I achieved it. Now here I am left with all these achievements seeming so minuscule in the grander picture of life.
Nat and Witt live by the same mantra of “We are all going to die anyway”. Yes, this may be true but I do not know if I can technically believe this. The mantra sounds undeniably morbid, but It is just saying that we need to fuck what others think and fuck what society tells us, for in the end, death should be our biggest fear. In some ways this may be true, for there should be nothing getting in the way of what you aim to accomplish, but technically there will always be roadblocks.
I may be cynical and coffee deprived and not entirely healthy, but in no way can anyway actually tell me that I have not achieved my dreams.
I think that is something I admire. I do not care how long it takes you to achieve your dreams, or how many people give you flack because of them. Your dreams are you own property to hold, and you should be in full control over all you do.
Moral of it all: Who cares how fucking long it takes, once you get there you will have it all.