We, at 23rd Street, cannot go idly by when a post is dripping with this much speed:
Amphetamine of the Year [Motherboard]
Also, our ridiculous degree of love for VICE & Motherboard, et al apparently knows NO bounds. We exist in a benevolent metastatic spread of delight & elation.
Happy Friday!
WoW! This blog hasn’t received any amount of love in forever. I’m not sure I even remember how to do this. I feel it only appropriate to provide it some love:
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=_cJm1zny0Bw%5DWatch it until the end.
Make Pancakes Like a Crackhead (just-whatever.com)
Ohhhh, vice.com, how much do we love you?
How to Sell Drugs (vice.com)
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fvN7fKmCoXA&feature=player_embedded%5D
Why Big Pharma is Causing the Adderall Shortage (thefix.com)
Adderall is, as we’ve mentioned before, “Dexedrine but dirty. Like an STD infested hooker, instead of an escort service.”. But still, this whole thing affects all ADD stimulant drugs.
This blog has, recently, become less specifically ‘drugs’ and more ‘whatever idea or soundbyte sort of makes sense and somewhat justifies my existence at this point in time or justifies from a moment in the past my existence now’.
And I remember. Buzzing about Manhattan. Between Job #1 and Job #2 [which were technically the same job in different locations] or Job #1 and School… or Job #1.5 and the crack shack [home]. This time that exists in between… that one has to ‘kill’ we spent in the Barnes and Noble on 6th Avenue. The Barnes and Noble that doesn’t exist anymore. Shooting up in the bathroom, then finding a calm but buzzing about internally.
See, I was still a writer then… and as I writer, I read. I DEVOURED books. And in the air-conditioning, in the Barnes and Noble on 23rd Street and 6th Avenue, I killed the time that actual life wasn’t fit to kill. Walking amongst the stacks, opening the books, on a quest to find something that was good enough to be read… but really, on a quest to find something, anything [like now] that either makes sense or somewhat justifies my existence.
In so doing, I came upon, “The Perks of Being a Wallflower”. I felt above it or just like, ‘no’, somehow. I think it was written by a 13 year-old or something and it was probably really meta-. A young would-be writer writing about writing with words in a book that he’s written. I opted instead for “Well” by Matthew McIntosh. A novel told in a stream of consciousness manner about the sadness of the pacific northwest [one or two pages stained with a mixture of a squirt of blood/saline/some drug]. Anyway, I probably really just felt angry and resentful that this sort of thing (“Perks…”) could be on the shelf all popular and shit. …that this sort of watered-down bullshit could pass these days as meaningful. But mostly, I probably was jealous.
Anyway, so now, it’s a film. A thousand years later.
. …yes, there was a film.And well, I can never not fall in love with a coming-of-age story.
Because this sort of accident is always welcome at 23rd Street:
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U3y0TH4MLxg%5D
but, really, not oops ….because its awesome!
nope.
I was once a writer. I am sure of this fact.
I, unequivocally, believed that beyond “artist”, I AM A WRITER.
Now what?
…because its different now.
And admittedly, the following quote is from a two and a half minute trailer for a movie that I haven’t seen, but that doesn’t make it any less the summation of my entire existence for the past 7 years:
“I’m not who I thought I was… and I’m terrified that I never will be”. -The Words
Out of context, it seems a bit melodramatic. But here at 23rd Street, we have context for it. In addition, the folks at 23rd Street tend to confuse melodrama for passion.
23rd Street Chronicles 