The Preciously Inherited Liquor

This is a short piece I wrote for LOVE NAIL TREE‘s 5th Edition. Hope you enjoy!
Image credit: LOVE NAIL TREE

It is with us when we rouse from plenty’s cozy hours of rest; here as we welcome warm, cleansing waters upon half-slumbered faces, yawning into quiet morning kitchens to casually break hunger’s fast.

It is nestled neatly into leather interior, riding shotgun upon early commutes as we treat the noise of world news like nagging mothers-in-law.

It is the steps along the corporate ladder, the heavy oak office doors and dark red mahogany desks. It is the long-anticipated lunch with the exec’s: the lobster and wine on the company dime.

It is the drowsy drift home once again, the passing of the hungry and homes made of shopping carts–the litter, the drunken, the helpless, the drug-enslaved, the weeping, the gnashing.

It is perched alongside under chandelier light, under sirloins and whiskey’s done just right. It is reviewing the better parts of the day’s events with the wife.

It is the closing of the blinds, the excavation of another drink, a subtle boat
in which to serenly
float
away.

It is unconsciousness upon the arm chair, the blanket of wall street and warm alcoholic exhalation.

It is sweet Liberty ever along for the ride, abused, ignored, and childishly taken for granted. It is she, the most delectable drink we could savor, the preciously inherited liquor of the American experience, tragically guzzled like one glass too many.

Cherish and remember her, you inheritors. Wrap her swimmingly in your arms for your children’s sake if not, at least, for God’s sake.

A Piece Worth Reading

I wrote a brief personal assessment of 2012 two days ago. Very brief, in fact. As I re-read it I could see Don Miller all across the page.

Yeah, yeah. I am aware that every mid-to-late twenty-something male interested in writing poetry and reading the classics, who has (or is) at one point been jaded with the church but is still convinced of his necessity to be devoted to God, wants also to be Don Miller.

The truth is that there can only be one Don, but there will always be room for new voices. Even if these voices echo those from ages ago, or even a few years ago, we need to be awoken into life daily. This is why we write. No?

Anyway, like I said, as I re-read my personal assessment, I thought: I can write a “Don Miller” book. I’ll get a ton of flack for it, just like Don, because there will always be somebody to nitpick and point out theological, grammatical, or personal inconsistencies. But whatever. For every nitpicker, there will always be five people who might find encouragement.

I have always wanted to write a book. Books even. I intend to with my life. Writing a “Don Miller” book is probably a good place to start because they are autobiographical in nature, lighthearted in prose, and yet still heavy enough to inspire (though as I write this I am completely aware of my naivety–surely Don took months, if not years to mull things over). I think I might have something to say though, just like Don did. The big question is: what in the world would I write?

Don wrote Blue Like Jazz almost completely around a series of interactions and conversations with a couple handfuls of people at Reed. The entire book is brought up around those relationships. Thus, I have been working through the following question: what unique, powerful relationships do I have, and why would anybody want to read about them? I’ll let you know what I come up with!

John Updike on Thievery

The young people ask me about becoming a writer, and they really haven’t read, not even read bad stuff. They haven’t experienced reading as happiness, as it were. So without some knowledge of what other writers have done, it’s very hard to find your own way, I think. We’re all thieves, I suppose.