Carrie J. Daily

To my parents, who lives for my happiness. To my sister, who has tested my unconditional love since birth. To my best friend, who I can confide in throughly. To my ex’s, who I couldn’t keep due to my inability to love completely. To my colleagues, who have positively mentored me. To the poor girls, who danced for the money as I wrote and watched the pigs. To my favorite bartender, who never disappointed me with drinks and service. Special thanks to the people who I can write about with admiration, disgust, and/or intimacy. To everyone who thought I was writing about them: I was.

Ask me anything or contact me at

I’m in another country again and more specifically at a strip club. I stared expressionless among the smoke that polluted the room, the pigs that hungered for cheap sex, and the booze that stimulated reckless behavior. These are some of the things that surrounded me at twenty-two, and much like everyone else, I yearned for something. I’d spent the last few years living with the same surroundings in different countries and still felt like everyone was a carbon copy of someone. They’d all rub off on the people they either hated or loved and eventually settled for the same life. They all started to sound the same and nothing bored me more than repetition. 
“Is this seat taken?” 
“It will be as soon as you decide it’s yours.” I couldn’t make out if she was laughing out of humor or if she’d simply become tongue-tied then it registered why I even bothered questioning something I could care less for and returned to reading the words of Murakami.
“It’s Quinn.”
“Yes, that’s my name. I figured you weren’t going to ask nor start a conversation with me.”
“OK, now you’ve put me in a bind. What would a lady named Quinn like to drink?”
“Fair enough.”
She tells the bartender to set her up with a classic pomegranate mojito. I find you can tell what a person is going through by the type of poison they order and a pomegranate mojito is a very precise drink that I couldn’t interpret. 

“This is the second night I’ve seen you here sitting alone with your book like it’s your goddamn muse. You’re an odd one, aren’t you?”
“I am whatever you want me to be.”
“Be careful with your words. I might ask you to be someone you might not want to be.”
“I dare you to try me.”
By the end of that night her phone was programmed on my phone and she’d set a reminder to meet her the next evening at 7 o’clock.

I don’t know how I lived that way for years—I must have been on autopilot after the tragedy. Those memories all piled into one big container that paralleled between lust and sorrow. It was the same shit with people; exchanging of names, the anticipation of messages for the next time you’d see each other again, and other bullshit things that make company a rare commodity.

Posted at 12:34am and tagged with: draft, writing, fiction,.

Posted at 7:07pm.

Maybe you’ve met her, maybe you haven’t — but your future wife is somewhere out there in the world … getting fucked by someone else.

I depended on other women to devour me when I felt something real. But I couldn’t do it anymore. I phoned a girl I fucked a month ago to help me forget, but I couldn’t even get myself to love her, much less like. She was wrong in every way. Her voice was bland. “I missed you so much,” she desperately moaned. Listening to her on the other line boiled everything inside me. I didn’t want her in any way—I just knew I wanted her to go away, but I was lonely and I’d spent the last 24 hours missing Rachel. I missed Rachel so much it scared me. I wondered if she was missing me too? I wondered often and I felt pathetic for thinking that way. I thought about running in the heavy downpour to her apartment just to give her roses. She would probably ask me something logical like why I didn’t think to drive and I’d awkwardly tell her, “I don’t know. I was just thinking about these roses and you.” That’s when I noticed I was still on the line with that promiscuous mutt.

Posted at 8:22pm and tagged with: draft, excerpt, personal, fiction, writing,.

Johnny Depp

Posted at 12:59pm.

If you love two people at the same time, choose the second. Because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second.
Charles Bukowski, Selected Letters Vol. 4 (1987-1994)

(Source: hellanne)

Posted at 9:49am.

Stop insisting on clearing your head — clear your fucking heart instead.

(Source: story-dj)

Posted at 5:03pm.

Posted at 9:41pm and tagged with: alaska, drafts,.

Very few people like Alaska, and for whatever reason, I think they’re wrong. We bitch and moan about our current situation, so we move elsewhere and belong to another niche who’ll also bitch and moan about something. We suffer economically and as a result, we commit our lives to labor in order to keep up with life. Then, we’re so bored with our lives we covet the past; we fantasize about the low prices without realizing what shit that generation went through. It can be a tough world out there and we are getting soft. We have become spoiled by technology that we insist we be catered to.

I sat in my office staring miserably at the workload I had to complete and thought about the amount of decisions that are made everyday. We wake up early in the morning only to be a modern-day slave in order to buy things that end up owning us. Time consumes us. We spend all day, perhaps throughout the evening, in labor without passion. Then, after being decent human beings to other human beings who are also trying, we go home to our little lives. Maybe it’s a husband or wife, and a kid or two. Or maybe it’s just a quiet space and candles waiting to be lit. 

I wish school taught us how to be better with commitments. I wonder if it is even something that can be grasped through education? Maybe it only comes better with age and experience? Nevertheless, I think the solution to a finer and genuine life is mastering commitment. 

To love is to commit. To excel is to commit. To succeed is to commit. To be happy is to commit.

While I have loved and celebrated many triumphs, they were all transient fulfillments. I suppose it’s time to commit. I mean it, go all the way.

Posted at 10:15pm and tagged with: life, blogging, writing, drafts, commitment,.

After a day of unproductive meetings, I walked to, what I thought was a  secluded bar near the town center, but easily became the location where college students went to socialize. A colleague ordered me the special deal from the bar; a tequila shot and a Vodka Red Bull for only 4 euros. I did not mind, perhaps I was seeking for something again. I mindlessly take the cheap shot and sip on the rest while I inspect the people around me. I saw a pretty face, but concluded that her physical characteristics couldn’t possibly mirror her insides. I don’t know, I have a feeling I can sense people for what they really are and I think there are other people out there that share the ability tooat least I like to think so. 

My colleague tells me about his profession and challenges me to see how much personal information I can retrieve. I casually walk over and start a conversation with a lady. I fictionalize myself for the most part. She is a massage therapist who lives 10 minutes away from the bar. I return and relay the information to my colleague with ease. As introverted as I am, socializing in a bar has never been an issue for me. I can walk to a group of females and by the end of the night be searched on Facebook under a name I invented.

We share the night together in bliss. My troubles vanish and I become in sync with life; I live as if I have not experienced regret or pain. 

She takes me to the next bar because the one we’re enjoying is unfortunately closing. I pay my fee to enter the next bar, and find myself being handed another Vodka Red Bull and I lose sight of her. I am not troubled as the realization came to me years ago that people are replaceable, and that I should not fear it. A few hours pass. My colleague finds her and expects we continue, but I refuse to prolong the abandonment.

Posted at 11:26pm and tagged with: blogging, writing, drafts, drinking,.

The awful part about pain is that it doesn’t have to be felt immediately—pain is timeless—it can come four years after the tragedy on a cold Sunday morning. Love, which is completely indispensable, tortures me. It stands on a platform flashing me with all of its beauty knowing my inability to seize it unreserved. 

Posted at 12:25pm.

Paulo Coelho

Posted at 9:00pm.

Nothing wrong in creating a blacklist with people who put you down. Just don’t include people who challenge you.

I lived in Korea then. Work kept me busy and when I wasn’t, I was drunk. There was nothing I needed or wanted in life—I was content. Then one day I found myself suddenly booking a trip. I packed light and landed soon after. I slept peacefully on the tenth floor with no plans whatsoever. 

I woke up, enjoyed the view quietly with a cup of coffee, worked out, showered, then had lunch outside by the hotel pool. “What’s next?” I wondered. I decided to respond to a friends message to meet for dinner. We ate and returned to the hotel bar for drinks. I asked the bartender where one could go to have fun. She suggested a club, but the place required an ID my friend forgot to bring.

I’m at this club, bored as can be. One rum and coke easily became five. Maybe some shots will help.

I watched everyone. The young girls gossiped, smiled, and swayed around their tables. But it depressed me. They were all waiting for something. Some scoped the club for love or lust, some to see if they recognized anyone, and some simply waited for their sadness to go away. But at that moment, I desired for nothing.

I tell my friend that I’d buy a bottle and when I return I’d introduce him as I point at a table of girls. I noticed this girl looking at us. She glanced and I didn’t give a shit, but she was persistent. I leave him, order a bottle of Jack Daniels, and tell him let’s go. He’s terrified, but it has been my way of life for too long. Introductions begin. All the girls didn’t appeal to me, but I figure I’d do him a favor any way. We kill nearly the bottle alone, so at this point I’m drunk. Maybe it was the booze, but one of the girls looked like an old friend of mine—which quickly went away when I got close. 

Two o’clock hit and they said their goodbyes, but I was clinging onto this girl. We find ourselves in a cab. Me, my friend, and two girls. My friend thanks me obnoxiously. “Yeah, man, no prob.” 

I never seem to sleep, so I tell the girl next to me to come here. She rolls over and hugs me. I didn’t see that coming nor the feeling of being absolutely in peace. 

I fucked her of course. In the morning we had coffee. We didn’t bring it up, but I thought about it. I thought about all the other girls I fucked with no regards. I figured it’d be the same, but I thought about hugging her and wondering why. I sat still and played with the thought.

That night was a little over seven months ago. I’ve developed strong feelings for the girl and I can’t imagine how my life would be like now if it weren’t for that one night. I think about the possibilities and the chances it took me to meet her. If I didn’t plan a last minute trip, if I booked it a night or two prior, I wouldn’t have met her. But I landed at the right day and time. If my friend brought his ID, I wouldn’t have met her. But he didn’t and we adjusted our route. If my girlfriends friend wasn’t glancing at me, I wouldn’t have approached her table. But she was. 

I couldn’t be more grateful for life. I am in love with this girl and nothing competes. I’ve always thought “if it’s natural, you win,” and that’s exactly how things between me and her have been.

Posted at 8:55pm.

Gail Tsukiyama, The Samurai’s Garden  (via thatkindofwoman)


Posted at 9:41pm.

Sometimes you can’t let go of the past without facing it again.
Buddy Wakefield; Hurling Crowbirds at Mockingbars  (via 691180)

Posted at 9:37pm.

This is an apology letter to the both of us for how long it took me to let things go.
Yasmin Mogahed (via sorakeem)

(Source: splitterherzen)

Posted at 9:35pm.

Some hearts understand each other,
even in silence.