August 12th, 2014

Shot of Words 11

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San Francisco, CA. (Follow me on Instagram: euvelab)

Tonight I’m standing by the bar talking to this boy and there’s something in the curve of his smile that pushes me to swallow larger gulps of my scotch. While he’s pouring some drinks he flashes the black Spark inked on his wrist; he hands me a shot and a smile, and we clink and drink

for hours, drinks are poured and we yell at each other over bad music and in the darkness all you can see is bodies moving and hair swinging through clouds of smoke and silhouettes of boys dressed in suits drinking straight from bottles. And as I guzzle down from mine, a familiar feeling of dispassion fills my whole body, until I spot him kissing a girl and his eyes are wide open. Wide open, his eyes set on mine, I gulp, gulp, gulp, believing for a moment that I know how the night is going to end, and I’m instantly loaded with a startling hint of purpose. 

August 12th, 2014

(Source: R2--D2)

Reblogged from v
August 12th, 2014

“I embrace the label of bad feminist because I am human. I am messy. I’m not trying to be an example. I am not trying to be perfect.” -Roxane Gay, Bad Feminist

August 12th, 2014

"So if I asked you about art, you’d probably give me the skinny… on every art book ever written. Michelangelo? You know a lot about him. Life’s work, political aspirations. Him and the pope. Sexual orientation. The whole works, right? I bet you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling. Seeing that. If I ask you about women, you’ll probably give me a syllabus of your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can’t tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman… and feel truly happy. You’re a tough kid. I ask you about war, you’d probably ah throw Shakespeare at me, right? "Once more into the breach, dear friends." But you’ve never been near one. You’ve never held your best friend’s head in your lap… and watched him gasp his last breath lookin’ to you for help. If I asked you about love, you’d probably quote me a sonnet, but you’ve never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes. Feelin’ like God put an angel on Earth just for you, who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be her angel, to have that love for her be there forever. Through anything. Through cancer. And you wouldn’t know about sleepin’ sittin’ up in a hospital room… for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes… that the terms "visiting hours" don’t apply to you. You don’t know about real loss, ‘cause that only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself. I doubt you’ve ever dared to love anybody that much. I look at you. I don’t see an intelligent, confident man. I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you’re a genius, Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine. You ripped my fuckin’ life apart. You’re an orphan, right? Do you think that I’d know the first thing about how hard your life has been - how you feel, who you are - because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally, I don’t give a shit about all that, because - You know what? I can’t learn anything from you… I can’t read in some fuckin’ book. Unless you wanna talk about you, who you are. And I’m fascinated. I’m in. But you don’t wanna do that, do you sport? You’re terrified of what you might say. Your move, chief." -Sean Maguire, Good Will Hunting

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@euvelab

I love people. I love words. I love telling stories. Storytelling will never die, ya hear?

This site contains a mix of my journalism portfolio, fiction writing, personal essays and, of course, pictures of cheese. This is Tumblr, after all.