Kiss me.

If we can't shake hands with God on Earth...  ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ The Kiss If we can't shake hands with God on Earth... ​ --------------------------------------------------------------- If you need an excuse to take a gentle, 90-second pause this morning, [Somewhere](=) is waiting patiently for your ears. --------------------------------------------------------------- I got properly drunk on Friday night. I had three heavy pours of bourbon before walking over to Wilburn Tavern where I had an Old Fashioned––and I believe a second after that, although I can't recall. At Wilburn I rendezvoused with my dear friend [Taylor McFerran](=). After a good long talk on the back patio, the two of us hitched a ride to a haunt called Schulman's. Taylor ordered us two Gin Martinis with a twist. We drank those quickly––then we washed them down with a pair of Topo Chico's and a shot of tequila. I realized I need to get home when my tongue had great difficulty differentiating between the tequila and the Topo Chico. Unfortunately, my buddy Fuse was working the bar. He caught me with one foot out the door and somehow managed to lure me back inside with a shot of an apéritif whose name escapes me. I managed to make it home in once piece where, in my drunken stupor, I had the wherewithal to raid my refrigerator for something of sustenance, down four Advil and chug an exorbitant amount of water before passing out atop my bed with June in a neat little knot beside me. When I woke up in the morning, I had nearly forgotten the tattoo I had received the evening prior from this brilliant Nashville-artist by the name of [Marisa Martello](). I interviewed her for Dreamland while she drew on me––with time, I'll share our conversation. Trying to have a thoughtful discussion with someone while they prick your skin with a small machine capable of carrying out 1,500 punctures-per-minute––and that ain't no shit, look it up––is kind of like trying to solve a Sudoku in the back of a Dune Buggy. Hence the bourbon. Growing up, my parents kept a life-size reproduction of Gustav Klimt's The Kiss hanging in one of the alcoves of our home. I've walked by that piece 100,000 times––if not 100,000 times more––and I've spent the better part of my adult life chasing the feeling that Klimt captured in that painting. Art is proof of the existence of God. I truly believe that. So is sex, love, drugs, puppy dogs, smiles from strangers, waves from neighbors, getting drunk with Taylor McFerran, having coffee at Humphrey's with Kris Koon, lone cigarettes at 2 a.m., poetry, women, Billie Holiday, warm sheets fresh out of the dryer, bathhouses, John Prine, broken radios, breakfast at Cracker Barrel with my grandfather, the sudden and overwhelming urge to phone God and that scene in Call Me By Your Name when Michael Stuhlbarg tells Timothée Chalamet not to kill the sorrow and the pain. We spend our entire lives trying to fill this gaping hole inside our chest with soil from the Earth––yet no amount of filling and packing and patching and stuffing seems to cover up the emptiness. Perhaps the beauty in being human is that we're all circling God like hungry hawks in the sky, spending our lives inching closer and closer to him until one day we wake up and there is no more suffering and there is no more pain and there is no more hurt––but instead a smooth patch of skin where a hole once was but is no more. Until then, though, we shall keep digging our hands in the soil rooting for Earthly treasures that might ease our suffering. And we shall keep making art––for if we can't shake hands with God on Earth, at least we have The Kiss by Gustav Klimt. By [Cole Schafer](​ --------------------------------------------------------------- Just get it done Why Andy Warhol approached art like manufacturing ​ Andy Warhol approached art less like art and more like manufacturing. His studio was literally called "The Factory". While Warhol's contemporaries were warring against the commercialization of art, he embraced the constant change. Because of his adoption of innovations like mass printing, Warhol had just as many enemies as he did raving fans. He avoided his enemies by taking a hard-hat approach to the creation of art... “Don't think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they are deciding, make even more art.” I've found this is to be the only effective formula for battling self-doubt: - Make a lot of art - Ship a lot of art - Don't read the reviews Don't think about making art, just get it done. Making art is one thing. Getting paid for your art is something entirely different. ​[Dirty Jobs]( is a low-lift course that teaches you how to start freelancing with no experience. It's taught entirely via email––oh, and did I mention it's free? [GET IT DONE]( --------------------------------------------------------------- How to micro-dose Rattlesnake venom And why you probably shouldn't --------------------------------------------------------------- This segment is brought to you by [Schedule 35](), a magic mushroom marketplace that makes micro-dosing as simple and straight-forward as your daily vitamin regiment. For 15% off your first order, use discount code "dreamland" at checkout. --------------------------------------------------------------- You are capable of developing an immunity to snake venom. If each day you inject yourself with a tiny dose of venom, over the course of many months you will build up an immunity. For the past three decades, a rock n' roll singer by the name of Steve Ludwin has been running this very experiment. He has injected himself with venom milked from Rattlesnakes, Black Mambas and Cottonmouths. While I wouldn't recommend trying this fucked-up experiment at home, I appreciate the metaphor. Self-doubt is its own kind of venom. It's a venom that anybody creating or striving for something has experienced firsthand. The only way to build immunity to self-doubt is to ship a small piece of work every day. Every time I hit "send" I feel a small pang of fear––but with each passing day, it becomes easier. Here's the kicker, though. The moment you stop injecting yourself with venom, you begin to lose your immunity. Isn't that interesting? While Steve Ludwin could hypothetically survive snakebites that would kill most people, if he stopped micro-dosing venom, he would lose his immunity. The same can be said with creating and shipping work. The more work you create and ship, the easier it is to create and ship the next thing, and the next thing, and the next thing after that. By the way, if you are going to micro-dose anything, it should be magic mushrooms. They're non-venomous and mind-expanding. Head over to [Schedule35]() and be sure to use discount code "dreamland" at checkout for 15% off your first order. [ABRACADABRA]() --------------------------------------------------------------- Keep your whiskers Creative advice from legendary producer, Rick Rubin ​ Tiger whiskers function like miniature radar detectors. They can pick up on subtle vibrations in the air, allowing them to intuitively gauge distances between themselves and their prey, as well as detect subtle changes in the direction of the wind. If you were to somehow snip a tiger's whiskers––without first being mauled to death––you'd effectively be snipping away a good chunk of their intuition. Those of us who work a vocation that require a high degree of creativity, have hyper sensitive whiskers. Legendary producer, Rick Rubin, calls these antennae. The problem with whiskers (or antennae) is that in addition to allowing for heightened creativity, they make everything hurt more. When you're young, you can withstand the hurt. But, as you get older, the hurt can become too much to bear. Because of this, creatives snip their whiskers. They build up scar-tissue. They stop allowing themselves to feel. With time, their art will suffer. Stay open. Even when life hurts like lye in a paper-cut, stay open. Keep your whiskers. [FOR MORE DAILY MUSINGS]( --------------------------------------------------------------- [[linkedin]​]() ​ [Update your email preferences]( or unsubscribe [here](​ © 2024 The Process 113 Cherry St #92768, Seattle, WA 98104-2205