to the poles!

I am dedicating these words to your Polish girlfriends. To your three day gin binge hangover and the mathematician you watch on buses. I am dedicating them to secret mental allusions among friends and the great rushes of morning inadequacy we are all trembling under. A toast, sweet friends, to empty inboxes and fuzz on your tongue, to the heartfelt words slurred out at 3am which now reverberate throughout your head. Let us raise our glasses and drink once more to incoherency, illiteracy, bags under the eyes and not getting laid for three months. For this is our reality, and dear god, we are geniuses. Regardless of all the times we forget it and weep.

We must write and drink and play to the great wealth of inadequacies, the bread and butter of inspiration, the doubt which makes us shout so vehemently and so often. There is no passion and beauty in proclaiming a million times over that indeed, the sun will rise tomorrow, or YES! the earth (this earth!) is round. We live for the doubts and the uncertainties, and it is these we will scream our greatest assurances for. You cannot have passion to believe the a priori, and goddammit, what are we seeking if not this very passion? Let us take our most terrible and clichéd phrase and revel in its uncertainty of its own genius, then rip it down with confusion and begin again. Let us drink, my friends, to failure. And writing terribly, but better. Always: better.