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Truly laid back podcast where creatives discuss their craft, their hardships and their successes. Nothings off limits and there’s no judgment to be haddd - check it out if you’re into podcasts.
the pod is co-hosted by super dope peeps Jason Matteson & Amber Gray.
the pod is co-hosted by super dope peeps Jason Matteson & Amber Gray.
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Great podcast that gives advice through stories from fellow creatives! He also has a YT channel.
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👨I don’t really mess with pods too much but I recently worked with Eric Rahill (on Middle-Sized Things by Michael Rees) and ♾️quickly grew to be a huge fan. I decided to check out his podcast on my flight back. The woman next to me on the plane asked me what I was laughing at in my headphones. I told her Jeff Foxworthy, for some reason. On Joy Tactics, Jack Bensinger, Eric Rahill and Nate Varrone sort of riff on topics centered around the concept of “joy”. Kind ass real ass funny ass guys that stay trippin me out.
May 15, 2023
Feb 1, 2024
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📔the writing style of the author is both riveting and realistic - like talking to an old friend, who you feel no sense of shame around. the main character is a poet who can’t shake thinking about death and martyrdom as he grapples with his own life “baggage“ and unpacking. im only 25% into it though it’s so good.
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Shameless plug!! Here is an excerpt for a taste of what’s inside:
NIGHT CAP • PG. 8-10
“my eyes opened, rubbed raw and gritty as I wiped the night’s tears from their crusted crib.
these drunkard days are the worst. watery and red-eyed, I rose slowly from my bed - all too sensitive to light.
I shuttered at the slightest gust of wind and winced, as memories from last night flood my focus. - I laid barren on the bedsheets, beige all over - allowing it to bleed into my mind as I hugged a hollow memory of a girl that would have been.
I swayed slowly to the rhythm of sweet sensibility, as it steered me towards sleep's doorstep. sorrow seeped into my pores, then, consuming every inch of my being. overflown, I spilled out. like a stream set free, the rushing water became me.
I melted into my billet as refuge from the war inside my brain. until the bugle bellows, 0600 - to summon me from my sleep sack - to fight to live another day.
A. Pacheco
NIGHT CAP • PG. 8-10
“my eyes opened, rubbed raw and gritty as I wiped the night’s tears from their crusted crib.
these drunkard days are the worst. watery and red-eyed, I rose slowly from my bed - all too sensitive to light.
I shuttered at the slightest gust of wind and winced, as memories from last night flood my focus. - I laid barren on the bedsheets, beige all over - allowing it to bleed into my mind as I hugged a hollow memory of a girl that would have been.
I swayed slowly to the rhythm of sweet sensibility, as it steered me towards sleep's doorstep. sorrow seeped into my pores, then, consuming every inch of my being. overflown, I spilled out. like a stream set free, the rushing water became me.
I melted into my billet as refuge from the war inside my brain. until the bugle bellows, 0600 - to summon me from my sleep sack - to fight to live another day.
A. Pacheco