A communal canvas for quotes, drawings, emotional scribbles, bar stool poetry, friendly advice, and incoherent doodles… Crafted by drunk people.

Excuse me, are you drunk?…

This is the mildly brash question I have been asking strangers for the past three years. I quickly sooth the awkwardness with an explanation of the drunk journal, a small leather bound journal I carry in my back pocket to document my nights out. Welcoming them to write, draw, or do whatever they want in it, I inform them that I never look at the entries until the morning after so it’s “anonymous”. I’ll leave them with the journal and a couple pens (I like to have both color and black pens) and that’s where my involvement ends.

“Love is not a straight line..”

The journal in action is a beautiful thing. It is an endless source of shallow jokes, fragmented thoughts, phallic drawings, and scribbles, but on occasion it also hints at very real, raw human expression. This cheap journal has remarkable connective powers. Unorthodox yes, but this communal canvas has started infinitely more conversations than your best icebreaker. It makes strangers familiar and expedites drunken friendships. I’ve shared hearty laughs and meaningful exchanges because of this seemingly gimmicky project of mine.

Aside from all that, it is the life of the party. My favorite part is watching it bounce around a bar or party, from hand to hand, like some intoxicated ritual. Waking up to a full journal of drunken entries is just as fun and a humorous hangover distraction.

The sad truth is that not every journal has endured the ventures. My not so sober self has left a couple behind. However, the surviving entries comprise a rich library of inebriated thoughts, which I’m happy to share with you. With a growing team of drunk journalists across the nation, the collection is ever expanding.

The drunk journal was born out of a couple college years of traveling, partying, and occasional creative yearnings. Hands from Spain, Portugal, New Orleans, Australia, Denver, Uganda, my hometown of Albuquerque and many more have contributed to the collection of drunk journals. This past winter, my friend John fell in love with the idea. Now he, another friend Max, and I, with the help of others, are envisioning and creating a bold new future for the drunk journal.

Our dream is to inspire a movement where drunk journalists across the globe are constructing a new voice for our collective creativity. So, if a stranger hands you a journal, enjoy and know that you’re part of a public dialogue born out of our most raw state: being drunk.