life serial
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Matthew Allard is a writer and an Internet geek. He is the author of two books, To Slow Down The Time (2010) and Pops and Clicks (2013). One his short stories has been adapted into a short film.

He likes music and headphones, coffee, photography, vintage cameras and film, illustration, graphic design, architecture, cycling, tattoos, yoga, and beer.


This is his blog.
Leveled up with my guy yesterday morning! Officially all the way official.

Leveled up with my guy yesterday morning! Officially all the way official.

As a follow-up to a recent post working with Net10 Wireless, I’ve created some more images to illustrate another life hack for college students. You can still enjoy old posters and artwork long after their corners and edges have been torn or ruined by tacks and tape. Just cover books with them! It works great with ripped maps and charts. Plus, it’s a great hack for storing old books in plain sight. (Hint hint: that ugly econ textbook, maybe?) 

To cover the book, simply trim enough of the poster so that you can fold it in on all sides; then, slip the edges of your hardback into the sleeves. I’m still doing this today, recycling books and posters to create decorative little vignettes around the house. They give a room a bit of personality and, best of all, I get to continue enjoying my old posters and artwork.

[See, life hacks don’t have to be super complicated. If you’re 18+, quick-hurry-run and submit your idea to the #Net10CollegeHacks Tumblr before this Sunday, October 19. You’ll be entered for a chance to win prizes like a tablet & smartphone prize pack enabled with Net10 Wireless service, or a grand prize of $5,000 toward a dorm room makeover. No purchase necessary; here are the full rules to enter. Have fun!]

It’s autumn and I’m in love.

It’s autumn and I’m in love.

Southern California, served four ways.

(Source: instagram.com)

Myself | 9 October 2014

Myself | 9 October 2014

(Source: lifeserial.vsco.co)

My Loves (A Short List)

Cameron Jay
Ninja Sadie Cups
Books
Hot coffee, black

What’s that? Oh? You’re going to get us more snacks? Alright then.

What’s that? Oh? You’re going to get us more snacks? Alright then.

"Hold On We’re Going Home" (Drake Cover)
Vancouver Sleep Clinic & GXNXVS

What I am reading now…

It is almost impossible to capture true sadness; it is a deep-sea creature that can never be brought into view. I say that I remember being sad, but in truth I only remember mornings when that person in the bed—the person in which I was contained—could not wake up, could not go to work, could not even do the things that she knew would save her, and instead did only what was bound to destroy her: alcohol, and forbidden cigarettes, and endless lost black hours of loneliness. I’m tempted to distance myself from her, to say, “Oh, that wasn’t me.” But that was me, staring at the wall and longing to crayon-draw all over it and not even having the will for that. Not even the will for suicide. That was me in my room, looking out the window on Patchin Place as the maples turned yellow in autumn.
—Andrew Sean Greer, The Impossible Lives of Greta Wells

What I am reading now…

It is almost impossible to capture true sadness; it is a deep-sea creature that can never be brought into view. I say that I remember being sad, but in truth I only remember mornings when that person in the bed—the person in which I was contained—could not wake up, could not go to work, could not even do the things that she knew would save her, and instead did only what was bound to destroy her: alcohol, and forbidden cigarettes, and endless lost black hours of loneliness. I’m tempted to distance myself from her, to say, “Oh, that wasn’t me.” But that was me, staring at the wall and longing to crayon-draw all over it and not even having the will for that. Not even the will for suicide. That was me in my room, looking out the window on Patchin Place as the maples turned yellow in autumn.

Andrew Sean Greer, The Impossible Lives of Greta Wells

The bright side of the planet moves toward darkness
And the cities are falling asleep, each in its hour,
And for me, now as then, it is too much.
There is too much world.

—Czeslaw Milosz, The Separate Notebooks