Member-only story
A Letter of Liberation
On becoming, proving, escaping, and earning the right to exist.
Now I rub my eyes
For he has returned
Seems my preconceptions are
What should have been burned
For he still smiles
And he’s still strongNothing’s changed
But the surrounding bullshit
— Pearl Jam, “Off He Goes” (1996)
I’ve already decided. The decision has already been made. I made it. To hell with you if you feel otherwise. I’m writing this from a bar because I can think here. I don’t drink to escape any longer; I drink because I am. This is not an alcoholism story. We already did that one.
There have since been several sequels, spin-offs, reboots, prestige limited series, and one especially ill-advised cinematic universe.
This is an environment story.
Earlier this month, I sat at a bar from five in the afternoon until eleven at night and wrote an essay. My tab came to $47. Before I left, someone paid $270 for an annual subscription to read more of my work. (So can you.) The essay had already paid for itself, and then some. This is either a functioning business model, or it’s an unusually elegant cry for help. It’s neither; it’s both.
