AS LONG AS YOU PLACE ME AMONGST ONE OF THEM GREATS, WHEN I HIT THE HEAVENLY GATES I'LL BE COOL BESIDE JAY-Z

More of my writing, from CotMWM:

"Once I went to a festival with Avery and his friends. It was a decision made on the spur of the moment, born out of boredom; I had just returned from four days in the archipelago, where I had been staying with a boy I used to date once upon a time. Four blissful days in the sun, swimming, talking about literature and drinking absinthe. They had been nice, but I needed some pulse, some people, some light. So when Avery asked me along, offering me a ticket that his brother had declined, I said yes.

When we were driving to the festival, we rolled down the windows, put our heads out and blew smoke rings. The stereo was pumping out the latest, obscure indie music. I didn't say much; I felt too much of a clichéd twentysomething to be able to comfortably join the conversation which (naturally and inevitably) had turned to drugs and travelling. I had nothing to add in the drugs department; unless they wanted to hear about taking cough syrup to fall asleep faster or taking Zoloft in order to alleviate depression, my opinion was irrelevant. And travelling: there is nothing as boring as having to listen to other people's travelling stories. It's even boring to tell them; you can never do them justice and pictures show nothing. That's why I rarely take pictures when in another country. I end up only remembering these forced images of my trip instead of what really happened. So I just sat there, watched the clear, blue sky and tried to allow myself to feel just as young as I actually was without hiding behind a protective shield of irony. It didn't work. I began to regret coming along at all, thinking about my bed at home and the books still waiting to be read and written."

-The creativity of the mess we make, Julia Melin