Happy birthday! The deep parasocial love I feel when you write pieces like this is confusing and enthralling. My eyes mist up with gratitude anytime I see my own inchoate feelings articulated with such prose and it feels like you know me and therefore I know you and we’re those friends you write about.
Which sounds creepy as fuck to write as a reply to a substack post, but I mean it, so earnestly and so gratefully that a tear slides along my temple as I tap this out on my phone in my sleepless dark room.
Many happy returns and thanks for the gift of sharing yourself with us.
Heather. I have never heard anyone else describe honey the way I do - the way it slo-mo slams into the brain of an overtuned sensory vampire - the way it manages to be a microcosm capturing the precise angles of sunlight experienced by each individual leaf on contributing plants and every teeny finger of air that wove its way through the fuzz on the bees’ bottoms - the way it can magically provoke a cup of tea to evoke everything - and reading this made me So. Happy.
Passion is a clumsy, raw, irresistible throbbing organ, isn’t it? Thanks for letting us sink our teeth into the stuff of yours. Your words are farm honey, the best.
Thank you for your birthday gift to all of us. You are like the honey that is nothing like regular honey, and we must have more of you, if you can bear our need. Too much of you is never enough; we are never enough for you or each other and we are also all we have. We hold the honey jar in the center of the stage, craving more. Happy sweet wild ginger honey birthday.
Happy Birthday, Heather! Today, the third, is my birthday, and Everything is the first thing I’ve read starting this new decade if my life. Thank you—your writing is always a present, and on this day, a special one for me.
Jun 3, 2022·edited Jun 3, 2022Liked by Heather Havrilesky
Happy birthday gemini, I should have guessed. I am also a June baby, generation jones, and reading your art reminds me of Frank O'Hara watching Mike Goldberg paint, containing both oranges and sardines. I would love to be able to do what you do. It resonates so deeply and yet is infathomable too. Like Karina, it makes me cry in recognition at the same time it makes me jealous that one person gets so much talent -- all I can do is respect and admire it as a guest witnessing beauty in a stranger's house. These emotions make me want to share your writing, to point out to others 'look at this, what she does here, isn't that amazing? Can't you just taste what she is saying?!' But then selfishly tell myself no one can appreciate it like I can; after all, no one among my dwindling number of friends has actually read Paul Bowles or who grasps that despite how casually it appears you toss the reference out, it was carefully placed. It feels like sitting alone watching your favorite movie in the dark. It never gets old. It means so much. It feels so solitary and intimate. And parts of it never fail to bring tears to your eyes. Thank you for giving us this gift on your birthday. I'm relieved you have recovered from your covid cocoon.
Happy Birthday, Heather. We love you and your words so much.
Also - recently had covid and found myself with a rebound two weeks later (or else I caught it again?), testing positive and some mild symptoms on day 21. My friends who took Paxlovid all had the same. Just an unsolicited heads up to test intermittently for the next couple weeks.
Happy birthday! The deep parasocial love I feel when you write pieces like this is confusing and enthralling. My eyes mist up with gratitude anytime I see my own inchoate feelings articulated with such prose and it feels like you know me and therefore I know you and we’re those friends you write about.
Which sounds creepy as fuck to write as a reply to a substack post, but I mean it, so earnestly and so gratefully that a tear slides along my temple as I tap this out on my phone in my sleepless dark room.
Many happy returns and thanks for the gift of sharing yourself with us.
Happy Birthday you glorious, powerful good witch x
Heather. I have never heard anyone else describe honey the way I do - the way it slo-mo slams into the brain of an overtuned sensory vampire - the way it manages to be a microcosm capturing the precise angles of sunlight experienced by each individual leaf on contributing plants and every teeny finger of air that wove its way through the fuzz on the bees’ bottoms - the way it can magically provoke a cup of tea to evoke everything - and reading this made me So. Happy.
Passion is a clumsy, raw, irresistible throbbing organ, isn’t it? Thanks for letting us sink our teeth into the stuff of yours. Your words are farm honey, the best.
Happiest of birthdays to you. I’m so glad you were born, love!
Thank you for your birthday gift to all of us. You are like the honey that is nothing like regular honey, and we must have more of you, if you can bear our need. Too much of you is never enough; we are never enough for you or each other and we are also all we have. We hold the honey jar in the center of the stage, craving more. Happy sweet wild ginger honey birthday.
Happy Birthday, Heather! Today, the third, is my birthday, and Everything is the first thing I’ve read starting this new decade if my life. Thank you—your writing is always a present, and on this day, a special one for me.
Happy birthday gemini, I should have guessed. I am also a June baby, generation jones, and reading your art reminds me of Frank O'Hara watching Mike Goldberg paint, containing both oranges and sardines. I would love to be able to do what you do. It resonates so deeply and yet is infathomable too. Like Karina, it makes me cry in recognition at the same time it makes me jealous that one person gets so much talent -- all I can do is respect and admire it as a guest witnessing beauty in a stranger's house. These emotions make me want to share your writing, to point out to others 'look at this, what she does here, isn't that amazing? Can't you just taste what she is saying?!' But then selfishly tell myself no one can appreciate it like I can; after all, no one among my dwindling number of friends has actually read Paul Bowles or who grasps that despite how casually it appears you toss the reference out, it was carefully placed. It feels like sitting alone watching your favorite movie in the dark. It never gets old. It means so much. It feels so solitary and intimate. And parts of it never fail to bring tears to your eyes. Thank you for giving us this gift on your birthday. I'm relieved you have recovered from your covid cocoon.
Happy Birthday Heather!
Another gem that takes me to far off places. You’re a inspiration :)
Happiest of all happy birthdays, Heather! Your existence on this planet makes me very happy!
I haven't even gotten past the art at the top...
Happy birthday, and thank you for making this awful world a little less awful
Happy Birthday, Heather. We love you and your words so much.
Also - recently had covid and found myself with a rebound two weeks later (or else I caught it again?), testing positive and some mild symptoms on day 21. My friends who took Paxlovid all had the same. Just an unsolicited heads up to test intermittently for the next couple weeks.
Happy birthday!
Happy birthday, happy end of quarantine, happy everything.
Worshipping beside you. Happy Birthday.