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I came to Barnes Noble to feel like a writer, believing that my proximity to books would anoint me kinda in the way hugging a good-smelling friend makes you a part of them if only for a while. I'll take that... smelling like a great wordsmith If just for the time I rub against them. So I sit in the museum of colorful covers and barcodes channeling Billy Collins or Susan Wheeler (maybe Dr. Suess) glowing with empowerment, while my ostentatious and somewhat snooty tablet stands arrogantly atop this cafe table in parallel unity with the Caramel Macchiato, because poets know Starbucks is Popeye's spinach for authors. Then clumsy fingers pound out keyboard percussion swelling into a privilege of honor that God would love us enough to give us words, and people, who will sustain us in their admiration, right or wrong. Where the meager difference between walking among giants or peasants will only be known after we are long gone. We write not so that we are known in this moment, but that we will be criticized by the future. I pray I am hated more than you all a thousand years from now.
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Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
The Next Great Thing
I came to Barnes Noble to feel like a writer, believing that my proximity to books would anoint me kinda in the way hugging a good-smelling friend makes you a part of them if only for a while. I'll take that... smelling like a great wordsmith If just for the time I rub against them. So I sit in the museum of colorful covers and barcodes channeling Billy Collins or Susan Wheeler (maybe Dr. Suess) glowing with empowerment, while my ostentatious and somewhat snooty tablet stands arrogantly atop this cafe table in parallel unity with the Caramel Macchiato, because poets know Starbucks is Popeye's spinach for authors. Then clumsy fingers pound out keyboard percussion swelling into a privilege of honor that God would love us enough to give us words, and people, who will sustain us in their admiration, right or wrong. Where the meager difference between walking among giants or peasants will only be known after we are long gone. We write not so that we are known in this moment, but that we will be criticized by the future. I pray I am hated more than you all a thousand years from now.
drumhound
Written by
American
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
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