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no room for hipsters

the occupation of Ashley and Levon

For Lent this year I’m keeping my sweets and coffee.  I won’t be fasting meals or rising earlier.  And my good deeds will be spontaneous if i do them. What is killing me is a lack of structure.  I’m dust if I don’t get it figured out.

I need a season of adjustment.  It sounds pleasant to say, very pensive, composed.  It is speaking peace to the tempest of crashing scramble that my demons are capable of.

I adapt to structure.  The more rigid, and the longer, the more erratic a revolt.  Structure that gives flexibility I will gradually forget.  Discipline is what I need, and that is never very interesting.  My aunt was looking for a girdle the other day and it made me think,

“Now there is something that isn’t fun to wear, and isn’t fun not to wear, if the dress is too tight.”

There is a notion held by many that spontaneity is the guiding light of inspiration.  Inspiration can come so unprovoked that its presence in the room is tangible.  And if you waited for that to happen, to be knocked off your bicycle while holding a notebook under your elbow and a pencil behind your ear, somehow next to a charming park bench with a water fountain beside an oak tree, make sure you write legibly and try not to use everything in one work.

This Lent I am giving up all my artistic license to live like a slob.



“Inspiration exists, but it has to find us working.”


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