an abandoned chest of roistering literature for the drunk and rampant reader.
Before I start today’s post, I’ve got to give credit to Thought Catalog—who inspired me with a post on this topic a couple of weeks ago.
So I’m totally stealing the idea, without stealing any of their specific points, and hopefully we can have fun with this.
The premise is simple: How do you know if you’re addicted to reading?
Here are the signs:
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If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream–and not make dreams your master;
If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings–nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!
DRUNKEN LIBRARY’S ALBUM OF THE MONTH
This July’s listen is GIRL by Pharrell Williams.
Our featured listen is “Hunter” for those nights on the prowl (we know you’re searching for hot summer love). “Just because it’s the middle of the night, that don’t mean I won’t hunt you down” makes you feel like Pharrell is singing right to you.
The whole album is a tribute to Pharrell’s deep love for females everywhere. The music is upbeat, sexy, and will make you feel like a queen. “Lift your head when you’re down so you don’t drop your crown, ain’t gotta ask me too” are lyrics to surely get your “motors runnin’.”
Follow this #BAE.
“Poets don’t finish poems, they abandon them.”
I once asked Dad what he’d do if he wasn’t working in politics, and he said he’d be working in politics, and what he meant, I think, is that wherever he was in the world, whatever job he was doing, he’d still find a way back, in the way that cats are supposed to be able to find a way back when they move house. He’d be on the local council, or he’d give out pamphlets, or something. Anything that was a part of that world, he’d do. He was a little sad when he said it; he told me it was, in the end, a failure of imagination.
And that’s me: I suffer from a failure of imagination. I could do what I wanted, every day of my life, and what I want to do, apparently, is to get walloped out of my head and pick fights. Telling me I can do anything I want is like pulling the plug out of the bath and then telling the water it can go anywhere it wants. Try it, and see what happens.
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
The goal of storytelling should be to make stories as ubiquitous as music.
Mae finished her wine, and felt briefly aglow. She squinted into the sun, turned away, and saw a man in the distance, on a silver sailboat, raising a tricolored flag.
“How old are you?” the woman asked. “You look about eleven.”
“Twenty-four,” Mae said.
“My god. You don’t have a mark on you. Were we ever twenty-four, my love?” She turned to the man, who was using a ballpoint pen to scratch the arch of his foot. He shrugged, and the woman let the matter drop.
“Beautiful out here,” Mae said.
“We agree,” the woman said. “The beauty is loud and constant. The sunrise this morning, it was so good. And tonight’s a full moon. It’s been rising full orange, turning silver as it climbs. The water will be soaked in gold, then platinum. You should stay.”
DRUNKEN LIBRARY’S ALBUM OF THE MONTH
This June’s listen is White Women by Chromeo.
Our featured listen is “Lost On The Way Home,” the perfect sound for a dreamy night drive.
This whole album will bring the best dance parties on the planet. With lyrics like “I can be your boyfriend and your counselor ‘cause the night might damage ya,” jamming to these sexy socialites will set the tone for your summer.
Check out their tumblr here and see them live on tour at this year’s festivals!
Here’s why I will be a good person. Because I listen. I cannot speak, so I listen very well. I never interrupt, I never deflect the course of the conversation with a comment of my own. People, if you pay attention to them, change the direction of one another’s conversations constantly. It’s like having a passenger in your car who suddenly grabs the steering wheel and turns you down a side street. For instance, if we met at a party and I wanted to tell you a story about the time I needed to get a soccer ball in my neighbor’s yard but his dog chased me and I had to jump into a swimming pool to escape, and I began telling the story, you, hearing the words “soccer” and “neighbor” in the same sentence, might interrupt and mention that your childhood neighbor was Pele, the famous soccer player, and I might be courteous and say, Didn’t he play for the Cosmos of New York? Did you grow up in New York? And you might reply that, no, you grew up in Brazil on the streets of Tres Coracoes with Pele, and I might say, I thought you were from Tennessee, and you might say not originally, and then go on to outline your genealogy at length. So my initial conversational gambit—that I had a funny story about being chased by my neighbor’s dog—would be totally lost, and only because you had to tell me all about Pele. Learn to listen! I beg of you. Pretend you are a dog like me and listen to other people rather than steal stories.
drunken library 