Chicago — The night before I was supposed to deliver a keynote presentation to 500 creatives in Chicago, I stood in front of the mirror to practice my talk. I talked about IDEO, about Uber, about Mailbox. And it felt all wrong. Who was I to tell those stories if I no longer worked there? I was unemployed, lost in life, and burning through my savings account. I felt like a fraud. And in the morning, everyone...
San francisco — Note: Wrote this today as a sort of freewrite for Working Draft, a little club started by a friend from 826 Valencia. We invaded the tutoring center late at night and everyone got to work. Originall...
Tokyo — There’s a monk in that tree, I swear. Can you see him? It’s a bit tough. But trust me, he’s there. Bald, in robes. No harness. No helmet. Just a monk in a tree with a sword, cutting branches in my...
What you left behind wasn't me, it was yourself.
A bomb gone off on Istiklal ...
Overwhelmed!... A time when nothing seems to go well...
He was happy he'd decided to go
A night as "free-range" cattle - or - Searching for a unified theory on courtship.
The farmer's beads
Kiss Of Butterflies ~And The Chilhood! Hopes...Colors... Innocence...
The first 'sketch' on hi! Coincidentally I landed here on *hi* today while googling. Capture,Write, Publish And...Big Screen Tablet. (Gifted)
I came here to find myself. I have been bruised and I have bruised people. Said the worst of things.Fought for love that I thought should be mine. Let go when it mattered most. Loved her and hated her. Loved her, hated her. Don't know what to do now. I am much better, I tell myself. But I feel broken, I know. Wish all of these hadn't started. In love, don't give room for doubt. That surely is one way ticket to depression.Now someone hand me down some cold water to calm me. Never being the same. Never. We will meet again. We will. Save some love for me. Just do.
Time to say goodbye.
The sirens came abruptly. It was one in the morning and the window by our bed was still open.
People you once knew
Self-Portrait of The Artist as a Self-Conscious 17 year-old.
Sleepless in Solna
The hard glare of the fluorescent light. The shiny marble floor. The buzzing of the electricity. In that somber quiet waiting room. Avoiding eye contact. Deep breaths of frustration.
Looking for escape routes
In the photographers room
We never look around us
A pleasurable ennui
sHe : Her Hands , Her Hinds.
It's been a long time since I've been here.
Anywhere but here...(The author squirms in extreme discomfort and restraints are necessary to prevent her from doing something bad)...Part 2
Undercover in NYC...(Where the author finally, at last, accepts the obvious. Lets not talk about why it took her so long. She feels plenty dumb)...Part 3
I write like I swim. I can't go far.
...and from this place
From this place
A quintessential Southern English town. Beautiful and ancient.
I love the enforced laziness of a train carriage
Waiting the night
Someone asked me, why don't you defend yourself?
It's one of those nights.
That couple by the river
Cards Against Humanity