EDWARD SUNG

Writing Stuff. Sometimes.

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Monday Mix Tape 12/11/14

for my Hannah, on her birthday
your smile makes me happy

 

  1. When I'm With You Best Coast 2:58
  2. My Favourite Book Stars 4:06
  3. You Make Me Smile Aloe Blacc 3:26
  4. Nitemare Hippy Girl Beck 2:55
  5. Oh, It Is Love Hellogoodbye 4:00
  6. Straight From My Heart Siwel
  7. Stand Right by Each Other Lucinda Williams 3:59
  8. Baby I'm Yours Arctic Monkeys 2:44
  9. In Spite Of Ourselves John Prine & Iris Dement 3:34
  10. Rene And Georgette Magritte With Their Dog After The War Paul Simon 3:44

Hold On

Wilson Phillips 01

Wilson Phillips 02

Wilson Phillips 03

Wilson Phillips 04

Wilson Phillips 05

Thots

Actually

Once in a Lifetime of Ethics in Games Journalism
Shit
Actually...
You're So Vain
Reservoir Dogs

Enemy of Joy

This guy gets it.

For Skattie

Way down at the bottom of the page, you’ll find a dedication that reads “For Skattie.” Skattie was my friend Scott Vice. He was pursuing a Ph.D in Clinical Psychology, specializing in childhood psychological disorders, at the University of Denver.

Scott committed suicide on July 29, 2002. He was 37.
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Everybody’s Working For The Weekend!

Open your eyes, your vision unfogs to morning light. Transition from dreams to consciousness.

What day is it? Slow realization: Monday.

Claw the air with knurled fists. Moan your anguish to an uncaring universe. “Why, God!” But there is no God, at least not this morning.

Get up. Go to work. Hurl yourself onto the freeway. Run through the concrete maze, Rat. Run, Rat! Run!

The first phone call of the day stings dully, like the lash of a whip against a scabbed, callused back.

Crawl through the morning, towards the morsel of rancid cheese that is your lunch hour. It’s recess in the school of smothered dreams.

Sit at your desk. Stare at the monitor. Excel spreadsheet. Back away, into your mind. Scrape together the dry, crumbling remnants of your humanity. Scatter them with an angry sweep of your hand.

Crawl through the hours, scrabbling blindly in the shadow of the spectre of unemployment that looms overhead. Crawl faster! Don’t you feel its hot, fetid breath on the back of your neck? Faster!

End of day. You leap towards the exit, to freedom. Get into your metal box, lurch homeward in the necrotic light.

Tuesday. Wednesday.

Thursday! So close now. The weekend! Working, working for the weekend.

Friday!

Hold on for one more day!

Just hold on!

HOLD ON

NEARLY THERE

Weekend!

Weekend!

Wooooooooo!

Climbing To the Moon

Feel weirdly down lately. I’m pretty sure everything is OK, so there’s no external reason.

Ate seafood soup with rice noodles at Pho #1. It was really good and I ate the whole thing. Vietnamese soup is highly restorative.

I can’t seem to ever feel refreshed, in these late-summer weeks. I drink a lot of cold water, sparkling water, soda, nothing helps. I eat cold watermelon — nothing. It feels like being short of breath, inhaling deeply but unable to take a really satisfying, full breath.

Maybe if I split a watermelon in half and stick my whole face into it.
 

On Being Hung Over At Work

I am hung over.

I don’t get hangovers easily. Two large (4 oz) gin martinis will almost never make me feel like shit the next day, but a third usually will. Twelve ounces of 94.6 proof gin — this is never, ever a good idea.
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