Tryin’ to get like this. Summer training in effect.
There’s something about this type of music that feels tangible, the rasp in a voice, it’s unmanufactured. Feels like you could reach out and pluck it right out of the air. — A few sentences I jotted down while listening to a Shovels & Rope record.
After Thursday, I will have completed my last final of my first year of pharmacy school. It’s hard to believe it is coming to a close already. A certain level of finals stress is to be expected, but last night I dreamt of climbing. Good to know my subconscious has it’s priorities straight.
I understand why all of the great American writers were drunks. Drinking alone is pretty god damn introspective. There’s something about sipping a coffee or bourbon that makes me want to write something down.
In the South, the breeze blows softer… neighbors are friendlier, nosier, and more talkative. This is a different place. Our way of thinking is different, as are our ways of seeing, laughing, singing, eating, meeting and parting. Our walk is different, as the old song goes, our talk and our names. Nothing about us is quite the same as in the country to the north and west. What we carry in our memories is different too, and that may explain everything else. — C. Kuralt