howdy family,

time races past like our favorite car swerving through the indy 500. most of our days spent waiting for it to round the corner into view. waiting in the mindless dribble of a scroll through facebook's highlight reels, or a television world where we live vicariously through another life that may be just like ours if we threw ourselves into the battle rather than sitting on the sidelines with a popcorn and icee in our hands. and only every so often when time pulls around the corner and we see it flash past us in a blur, we feel a restlessness, a needle stick reminder, "something's missing." then it's out of our sights so quick, we recede, ignoring the slow decay, that tick tick tick tick tick like a twitch in our eyes. we sit still on the bleachers pretending everything is OK without mentioning that brief restlessness, that tiny offering that maybe, maybe, something is missing. something isn't right.
 
i was in love with a beautiful soul who kept my eyes off the clock. distracted me from the race. it was a dream: too good to be true, no concept of passing time, finding myself in new ideas and emotions without any recollection of how i got there. i was in love. i was in love. i am in love. i am in love with the memory of a dream. i am awake. i am awake from the kind of dream you wish could last forever. i am awake and steeping in my bed, pressing snooze like a morphine drip, hoping to fall back into the same dream but only seeing the faint midnight glow of a television screen moments after unplugging.
 
tick tick tick tick tick
 
when you wake from a pleasant dream the first reaction is to blame. blame the construction outside, the alarm clock, the ache in your back from a worn down mattress. blame the sun for rising, the birds for chirping, the coffee scent wafting into the room. then the blame u-turns as you remember... i set the alarm, i bought the mattress, i kept the curtains peeled. i thought i wanted to wake up until i knew how good the dream could be. 
 
tick tick tick tick tick
 
a dream isn't real. dreams are the moments the racecar disappears around the corner. if the company is good enough, you may even forget you're watching the race. but the car always comes back around the bend. the twitch of restlessness returns and wakes you up. and i'm awake. i'm awake now. life no longer on pause, return to work, return to reality, return to a world where science makes the rules. where you can't mute her mouth before she tells you how sorry she is but she can't write you into her next chapter. you can't use a controller to turn down the pain in your chest. you can't fast-forward through the insecurity, the body dysmorphia, the self-destructive vulture that perches on your shoulder to gnaw at your ear with whispers of worthlessness. all there is to do is grab a pen and paper and doodle while you watch the race. and look, they're swerving around the corner again.


until next time, your loving son and brother, 

tell me what you're up to too: teppersaffren@gmail.com

P.S. the greatest compliment you could me give is sharing this newsletter with someone you think might enjoy it too.

journal thoughts
matt surges picked this date with as much explosive abandon as one cleans boogers out of their nose.

2/24/16
"art is a candyshop of metaphors. anyone who walks in can find something they like because they've got everything. sour patch kinds, tootsie rolls, red vines, warheads. they even put bags of chips by the counter in case you don't have a sweet tooth.
andre gide believes, 'everything that needs to be said, has already been said. but since no one was listening, everything myst be said again.' metaphors are the translations. there are a million ways to speak english. don't dangle a marshmallow in front of me (gelatin, gross) i won't dangle a kit kat bar in front of you, if you're lactose intolerant. otherwise, kit kats are delicious." 

Tepper's Two-Cents

1¢ — don't "should" on yourself

2¢ — rebel