Winter is coming
Ernest Hemingway’s Macho Letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald
We are going in to Pamplona tomorrow. Been trout fishing here. How are you? And how is Zelda?
I am feeling better than I’ve ever felt—havent drunk any thing but wine since I left Paris. God it has been wonderful country. But you hate country. All right omit description of country. I wonder what your idea of heaven would be—A beautiful vacuum filled with wealthy monogamists, all powerful and members of the best families all drinking themselves to death. And hell would probably [be] an ugly vacuum full of poor polygamists unable to obtain booze or with chronic stomach disorders that they called secret sorrows.
To me heaven would be a big bull ring with me holding two barrera seats and a trout stream outside that no one else was allowed to fish in and two lovely houses in the town; one where I would have my wife and children and be monogamous and love them truly and well and the other where I would have my nine beautiful mistresses on 9 different floors and one house would be fitted up with special copies of the Dial printed on soft tissue and kept in the toilets on every floor and in the other house we would use the American Mercury and the New Republic.* Then there would be a fine church like in Pamplona where I could go and be confessed on the way from one house to the other and I would get on my horse and ride out with my son to my bull ranch named Hacienda Hadley and toss coins to all my illegitimate children that lined the road. I would write out at the Hacienda and send my son in to lock the chastity belts onto my mistresses because someone had just galloped up with the news that a notorious monogamist named Fitzgerald had been seen riding toward the town at the head of a company of strolling drinkers.
Well anyway were going into town tomorrow early in the morning. Write me at the
Or dont you like to write letters. I do because it’s such a swell way to keep from working and yet feel you’ve done something.
So Long and love to Zelda from us both—
"A beautiful vacuum filled with wealthy monogamists."
My God was Hemingway good at making fun of Fitzgerald. It might’ve been Hemingway’s greatest talent.
You will lose everything. Your money, your power, your fame, your success, perhaps even your memories. Your looks will go. Loved ones will die. Your body will fall apart. Everything that seems permanent is impermanent and will be smashed. Experience will gradually, or not so gradually, strip away everything that it can strip away. Waking up means facing this reality with open eyes and no longer turning away.
But right now, we stand on sacred and holy ground, for that which will be lost has not yet been lost, and realising this is the key to unspeakable joy. Whoever or whatever is in your life right now has not yet been taken away from you. This may sound trivial, obvious, like nothing, but really it is the key to everything, the why and how and wherefore of existence. Impermanence has already rendered everything and everyone around you so deeply holy and significant and worthy of your heartbreaking gratitude. Loss has already transfigured your life into an altar.
Jeff Foster (via ashramof1)
Here’s a shirt design for Half Acre (obvs) which includes 50 individual drawings. The one I like the most is almost certainly not the one you like the most.
Presuming you like any of them. Shouldn’t jump to conclusions.
Stuff No One Told Me by Alex Noriega
Barcelona artist Alex Noriega loves quirky drawings. Currently working on a book, he hopes to bring light to his departure from the fashion industry.
So, Half Acre had a bet with Boston’s Harpoon Brewery related to the recent Hockeyball Matches. The brewery whose team out-hockeyed the other would be awarded the right to rename one of the loser’s beers for a week. As Chicago’s hockeyballers were victorious, these beauties that I spent the day HAND PAINTING will be gracing Harpoon’s taps in the coming week.
I am not a sports enthusiast, but I AM a schadenfreude enthusiast.
I wish I could get my hands on one of these taps!
I guess when this was taken, Johnny Cash had just dropped Acid with Hunter S Thompson at a party. Once tripping, Johnny found a cake and was discovered eating it in the bushes.
I may have close a couple of times though