...The Right to Write - Exercise...

Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Mon. Aug. 23, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #13 - A house I'm sitting at, Pacific Street, Brooklyn

The kids, not mine, I haven't gone down "that" avenue yet, are playing Beatles Rock Band. I'm stealing time to write. Writing in front of people is something new for me. Maybe it's a newfound confidence, or determination to full-fill this "Morning Pages" requirement -- or maybe it's a leap of faith - because the kids haven't noticed I'm writing and I'm hoping they don't. It's funny in life, when you're doing what you want in life, like writing, but don't want others to notice. It's like I'd like to be a writer, but am tip-toeing through life hoping nobody notices.

Head rush - as I stretched, maybe it's the heat, maybe still related to lack of sleep -- but I slept well last night yet still feel like I'm sleep walking, presently sleep-writing, I guess. Anxious again with constant shifts, trying to get comfortable on this lime green couch -- gotta question the decision making by the parents on that one. Yeah, anxious again, or maybe it's because today my back hurts, gotta start stretching better before I choose to run at that expensive gym. That's why I was stretching in the first place and got that head rush. Also, I might be uncomfortable and anxious because I'm hoping the mother of the kids I'm looking after doesn't walk in and see me writing, tip-toeing, tip-toeing. How ridiculous, knowing she's a writer herself, the kid's safety secured. They're playing Beatles Rock Band too. Music can't get much safer than that. Where's the Wu-Tang version for Rock Band, or Public Enemy. The kids could being singing "Fuck the Police"...yeah, the mother's a writer, but probably doesn't want, and certainly didn't picture, the sitter writing that. Or, maybe the writer in her envisioned this very setting...below, her envisioning...and ramblin', aren't we all, mama?...

...kids singing Beatles, sitter on couch...yeah, I know it's lime green and I regret the decision, but lime couches, I've heard, ignite the imagination...for example, I'm guessing the sitter, while the kids Rock Out, will be writing about Public Enemy...I love their song "Fuck the Police"...which reminds me - fuck the police...they searched my bag on my way home yesterday...I saw it coming too as I walked down the stairs, their plastic folding table stared back at me...I saw the cops, you have too...and then, you make eye-contact and you start to think you did something wrong...so, you look away quickly so they don't think you did something...but then that makes you look suspicious...and they ask, "Ma'am, could we check your bag, please?"...Fuck the police...

With a mouth like that, I shouldn't worry about her catching me writing...she might understand, right?...

That above situation feels similar to mine. I know I'm doing nothing wrong, writing while the kids Rock Out, playing Rock Band, but there's something inside me not allowing me to relax. Again, it could be my lack of sleep over the past 4 plus years. Maybe it's my diet and lack of nutrition. Maybe it's back to my insecurity of letting people see me write. All these maybes, they all probably add up to my anxiousness and reason for feeling uncomfortable. Uncomfortable - yeah, I've joked before that I always feel uncomfortable. Not feeling uncomfortable actually makes me feel uncomfortable, resulting in feeling more uncomfortable, and no, there's no case of two negatives equaling a positive here. The kid's still haven't noticed I'm writing. They're either in the zone of Rocking Out (isn't it hard to to that when playing The Beatles?), or they couldn't care less about my existence. Kids can often give you this feeling. I mean, shit, I just slightly (yes, slightly) picked my nose and nobody noticed - quite an accomplishment, another addition to my resume that at this point is overflowing with accolades, it's not? I mean, I'm babysitting during the day at 28, so my plan for life must becoming to fruition ("tion", a suffix denoting action of some kind, add to "fruit", I must be throwing fruit or something, yeah, or something...you are what you throw, you're not?...)...

...I like what I'm getting at here...not in life, but with this writing. I'm going to move to the kitchen table to get more comfortable - which like I said, probably will make me feel more uncomfortable, trying to write and finish faster, hoping the mother doesn't see me in the other room writing, as maybe she'd see it as me not paying attention to the kids...let's see what happens...todaboconoma...

...The kids still haven't noticed I've moved my seat and I'm writing. I'm urged to check my phone, I cringe, but don't check. I'm just curious what time it is to see if it's close to the time the mother would be arriving home...but I refuse the urge. What an accomplishment (another one!) especially for someone from my generation. My generation -- This reminds me of The New York Times Magazine article I started reading earlier today when the kids were reading their summer required reading, waiting for friends to arrive. The article, What Is It About 20-Somethings? written by Robin Marantz Henig, is about how more and more 20-somethings are taking longer to grow up, they move back in with parents, don't settle down into relationships for long, and often move from place to place yearly. It's a trend, and a sign of the times changing. I knew this before the article though, my parents being married in their early 20s, my brother and I in our late 20s (he's 30 next month! holy shit burgers!), and not close to being married...although, I've been in a 1 year relationship that I don't see ending soon, but prior to this I never considered marriage in the near future...Again, I haven't finished the article, but it makes me think back to tip-toeing. Am I tip-toeing through life, ignoring the growing up thing, or just going along with the trend of my generation across this nation? There must be truth to both of those, I'm sure. But, at this point, I'd rather look at it from a writing stand point. Well, I've come to the conclusion that if I keep tip-toeing then nobody will ever recognize me, my writing. One day, I'll forget to be scared, and someone will catch me in the act, act of writing, among other things like picking my nose, maybe simultaneously...maybe...more maybes...drunk on maybes.

A couple pages ago, I wrote in the margin: "Nowhere Man" plays on the TV as the kids play Beatles Rock Band, reminding me of the first blog post I created back in 2007...still often feels that way.

(To view that first blog post, click here then scroll to bottom of page, post titled "Songs on Trains")

...The Right to Write - Exercise...

Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Sun. Aug. 22, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #12 - 86th Street Train Station, Waiting Area, 8:48 AM

I'm debating whether to get on this coming train. I've got a good seat in this waiting area to do some writing. Hey, if you're going to wait, this is the area to do it, just letting you know. It's a little muggy and this woman just sat down next to me. I've got nothing against her, but she's making me lean toward getting on that train. The train's not here yet even though I said "this coming train" in the first sentence. This is still true though - for a train is always coming - oh the metaphors to use with that. I've decided to pass on the metaphors that make life more confusing than it already is, but decide to get on the train - when it gets here. The waiting area must be designated for boring people, they are inspiring nothing here, nothing.

I have an inkling, but recently somebody caught my drift because I told a joke, and without my drift I can't understand this inkling and what it's about.

I'm not enjoying writing in front of other people. Pause. I see two men sitting across from me. I look up to think of what to write, then look down to write. It looks like I'm taking notes on them (of them?)...catch my drift? Ahh. Well, at least I've got MY drift back and apparently that inkling I had was that I as going to get my drift back soon - all the signs life provides you with about what's going to happen next. I hope what happens next isn't the men across from me getting sick of me taking notes, or hopefully they just get off the train soon.

A woman across the way, yeah, over there, she got on the train, chose to sit down in the seats with a row of 3, and decided to sit down in the middle seat. This is like a man going to a public bathroom, there being 3 urinals, and he chooses the middle one. Then, another dude comes in and they become more friendly than they ever planned. All guys have been in this situation. You go into the bathroom, two dudes already launching, the middle urinal free. Sane dudes, dudes that aren't insane, wait for one of the other dudes to finish. Insane dudes, dudes that aren't sane, proceed to use the middle urinal. The only occasion a sane man chooses to use the middle urinal is when he knows for certain it's going to be a quickie, a quick 10-count. One, two, ten, shake, shake, zip, don't even have to pretend to wash hands because you weren't in there long enough to make new friends, especially that-a-way.

I was about to tell that woman to move over - but then another woman got up and switched her seat. These people confuse me. What appears as a perfectly quality seat that they already have, apparently isn't good enough. They get up and move to another seat, and absolutely no apparent advantage is gained. So, instead of telling the first woman to move over, out of what's best for society, I told the second woman that moved her seat, like a teacher to a student, "Hey, get back to your seat." And all those in my section changed theirs. I have no idea why.

I thought riding the train would inspire more, but it's Sunday morning and these people just aren't inspired, I guess. The guy with his baby strapped to his chest like he's wearing a backpack on the front, frontpack, chestpack, but no, baby-pack...Ok, I sit corrected, in a proper seat I might, and did, add - that guy is inspiring. I've ridden and written on trains before and it's inspired good stuff. It must have been good otherwise wouldn't be categorized as "stuff". I guess it's hit or miss, depends who's traveling the trains that day. Some days homeruns, other days strikeouts, like today, 3 swings, wiff, wiff, wiff...take a wiff of that guy and I dare you to not be inspired...other days, bullshit baseball metaphors. Eh, actually, I sit corrected, actually no, stand, because this is my stop...stand corrected. It's not about who's on the train, or what the surroundings are. It's the act of sitting down (or standing up) in whatever seat fits you. And, since that woman is still sitting in that middle seat, essentially the middle urinal, maybe I'll try writing there tomorrow and see if that shoe fits. Don't wear sandals in this seat though, bound to feel a dribble from a new friend.

I've been trying to create a metaphor for life out of the middle urinal idea. Maybe there isn't one, and that's the metaphor. Sometimes you just have to take a leak and can't always choose your seat, or others for that matter. God made the middle urinal, so you made lemonade, I made a metaphor.

...The Right to Write - Exercise...

Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Sat. Aug. 21, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #11 - My Apartment so far...

I sign on to today's "Morning Pages". A solace has arisen, and I will now sign off because I have no doubts that later today I will write and complete the 3 pages, a new found confidence, or maybe ambition? So for now, some ice coffee, some pets of my pet cat, Lil' Bobby Dylan, a couple Cat Power Songs -- "Lived in Bars" (Danced on Tables...), etc, and I will sign back on later today...

...

...I failed. But at least I tried, momma. I just got back from walking up six flights then down six flights. I'm not into walking these stairs for a hobby, although I used to run them -- but now my exercise routine consists of flushing money down toilets at the luxury gym. What had happened was - I had planned on writing today's "Morning Pages" atop my apartment building's roof (not ruff). The door was locked with a no-trespassing sign, which I ignored, but failed to get through. So, again, I'm going to sign off, go to that gym, think about where to write afterwards, and then sign back on. Which reminds me of my wiseass being more fiscally responsible, saying, "Instead of joining those expensive gyms, you should say you went to the gym today, which could be true by you running to the gym, touching it and running back." Be back later...

...

Scared to sign back on, scared to start writing again, a constant tug-of-war for writers, scared I won't be able to keep creating. I thought before that I hoped "this scared" won't outweigh me being scared to actually become a teacher instead of a writer. This goes with the idea that I'm going to graduate school to get a Masters in Education, and the closer I get to becoming a real teacher, I hope the more scared I become, forcing my hand to write.

With this writing thing, some day's it's being scared, others lack of ambition...others, what appears as lack of ambition, is really lack of knowing what to put that ambition into. I've concluded that I must go out of the apartment in order to write, too many distractions in that place, the TV stares at the back of my head, music's a good catalyst for writing, but for some reason not when I'm home, and the smell of my cat, Bob Dylan's liter box, well, I'll respect Bob, and not talk about his box, he doesn't appreciate people talking about his box...maybe it's similar to humans talking about other human's mommas, I'm not sure...Hence, I need to get out of the house. On the positive side, I did steal some time, in-between email/Facebook /what's on TV/ is my brother still sleeping? checks. And, well, the "Morning Pages" are almost completed and my confidence in my ability to create daily is improving, I think, at least at this moment.

At this moment, I am stealing more moments to write, as Ms. Cameron teaches writers must do. I'm writing at my girlfriend's apartment now. She's watching HBO's new series True Blood. From the moment vampires were mentioned in her show description, I decided, nope, not watching, time to finish the "Morning Pages" - at 8:30 PM, oh, well. There might be reasons other than its surrounding distractions that I couldn't seem to write in my apartment today, for I have written some of my best writing at the desk near the stove that my brother uses as an ashtray. Maybe, well, all day I've been nursing a hangover, possibly for obvious reason, drinking last night, the other, lack of sleeping again. Bed at 2 AM, up, rolling 'round at 6ish AM. Come to think of it, that combination (drinking, not sleeping) was a catalyst to such writings as Sunday Mo Jos and many-a-song I've written - mostly created in my apartment. My conviction in my apartment not being a great place for writing is dissipating. Again, I'm getting back to the theme - just do it, just write.

I also stole time to write on my way back from the fruit stand, 4 peaches, 4 apples, vanilla low-fat yogurt, and package of strawberries. "You are what you eat", you're not? I talked in previous "Morning Pages" about my walkings to and fro delis. This time it was a fruit stand. Yes, I'm human, deli/fruit shopping, living the daily grind. On these walks, other than reminding myself "I'm here", I often talk to myself, this time talking about last night, a meet-up with a best friend, his girlfriend and mine at Live Bait in Manhattan. It's a bar, it's got beer, and at the moment I have a conviction in not writing bar reviews. "If you're thirsty and walking by, stop in, give us a try". I wonder if they'd pay me for that slogan?...

Well, we talked over beers, what's new and all the cliche topics everyone runs through when first meeting up. The drinks sunk in and people loosened up. On the walk home from the fruit stand I thought about last night while also thinking about writing this. I broke out my cell phone, for once not to check the time, but to text myself, it makes me feel good, ok?. I typed -- revealing nothing except more unknowns, I guess referring to our questions to each other and our plans for life and its future. Who knows, yeah, who knows?

...The Right to Write - Exercise...

Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Fri. Aug. 20, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #10 - Park Slope Cocoa Bar @ 9ish AM

I can picture myself in this cafe. I have an extraordinary ability to picture myself in places that I am presently in. I can also picture myself in this cafe because to the left of my seat a mirror has an extraordinarily good looking man staring at me that suprisingly resembles that freckled man that lost his glow stick that I'm writing about in my next novel (novella?) (Look up meaning of that word at later date).

I often see others not at a job during the day and ask why aren't these people working?...asking this while unemployed...oh, the irony of unemployment...is that irony?...the irony of using the word irony when it's not called for...Anyways, a guy just entered the cafe. And, yes, he is that guy. The guy that approaches looking like he might join you, oh how I love that guy. I wear a t-shirt every time I go to a cafe that I think's going to be crowded. It says, "Don't worry, I won't join you." And on the back it says, "But watch your back"...the guy didn't join me...I reverse the T-shirt as soon as I get a seat...

"Man, do I need a tan," the man in the mirror asked? Yeah, that was a question, not me reflecting that I've just discovered that I'm an extraordinarily pasty fellow. That I am, but did not just discover, and to answer the man in the mirror's question, well, no, you don't need a tan. I'd like a cookie this cafe has in jars right next to the cash register, but I don't need one - but am going to get one later - because like Seinfeld said, "Being an adult is having a cookie when you want." And I think I'm thinking along those lines. Being an adult (add-ult? People that pronounce it that-a-way shall be locked up, or shipped to Starbucksland, a reference from other "Morning Pages")...being an adult is also realizing you don't need a tan. period. Of course I'd like one. One tan? Is that the proper way to refer to tans? Like the - I'd like one, as in, a cookie. Would you like a tan? Yeah, I'd like one? But, apparently adulthood has set in for me because I've graduated to the realization that whether I'd like one (a tan) or not, I'm not going to get one. So, me and my revelation will sit quietly with a cookie, go on with our day, while others waste theirs wishing for things unattainable (like a freckled man's tan, he'd rather have his glow stick back anyways). At points in my life I felt like Pecola, the black girl in Tony Morrison's Bluest Eye. All she wanted was blue eyes. And I say black - because she's black, or was. I'm not sure if these novel characters live on. But, with or without a tan, I will live on, extraordinarily pasty. That dude in the mirror certainly needs a tan though. Time for that cookie.

...

Reading the news:

"I couldn't have done this without my teammates, " said Tiger Woods Thursday night at his press conference, his first public appearance after the famed-Thanksgiving incident, changing Tiger's world forever. He repeated, "I couldn't have done this without my teammates," as his mother sits front row, dumbfounded how her little boy got to this point - the press dumbfounded, teammates?...

...

Back to that cafe. I can picture myself coming to this cafe, sleep deprived enough to think this writing will actually lead somewhere. Maybe that's what it takes anyways, a little disconnect from the supposed rational thinking most believe they have...picture myself coming to this cafe everyday and writing. It's got all the fixtures. Over priced coffee. Dunkin' Donuts 2.25, here 2.85 - but I convince myself if I'm paying extra, I must be doing something, creating something extraordinary - for who else is waking up, traveling to different places daily and writing "Morning Pages"? Not many, and that has nothing to do with others having jobs, I agree man in the mirror.

Bottles of wine - which reminds me that, yes, I am an adult if I'm surrounded by wine, and reminds me that this is no ordinary cafe, it's extraordinary and labeled a bar, a coffee bar, or specifically The Cocoa Bar in Park Slope Brooklyn. My ice coffee's ice has melted resulting in extra ice coffee - sweat!...Bookshelves with books, I refuse to list which ones, that absolutely nobody reads, but it gives customers, like the wine, a sense of sophistication, a word I often have trouble spelling and am proud of it...gives customers a sense of sophistication that I mock, but also fall into thinking I'm a part of because I've got the coffee, the proper surroundings, with my Ipod on, novel to the side next to my Moleskine that all the legends used, they didn't?

I can picture 50 years down the road, I'm long gone, but another extraordinarily pasty fellow walks into this cafe (fucking shit man, it's a bar and these bottles of wine are making me want to drink, get drunk, at 10 in the morning!)...this pasty fellow sits down, looks to the left and sees that man in the mirror who's extraordinarily pasty as well, but he's entered adulthood, doesn't care about tanning anymore, unpacks his Northface (still around), places novel aside along with his Moleskine, his thought-dreams convince (not really, but writes that he is, reverse psychology?) him that he has extraordinary ideas in the Moleskine that nobody gets, but when his time has come and past they will be understood. He sits, writes, sips ice coffee, ordered cookie in advanced unlike me because he's truly adult and ordered it right-a-way instead of reciting Seinfeld, he's living that philosophy. His ice coffee's long finished, but the ice melted and resulted in extra ice coffee. He's on his last day of the 90 day "Morning Pages" exercise and realizes there is nothing extraordinary about the writing process. A pen, a pad. You can surround yourself with all these fixtures, but only doing it, and that's writing, will do it. Which reminds me, this is the cafe that I, I mean that pasty man in the mirror, said he came to before he substitute taught at the school across the street - the school where he told seniors in high school that were running around the classroom playing tag, "Stop acting 3 and sit the fuck down".

...The Right to Write - Exercise...

Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Thurs. Aug. 19, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #9 - Apartment Bathroom

And so this is what life's come to...sitting on the John (Jon?) who's humming under my cheeks accidentally in unison with Ray Lamontagne's voice. He's not giving a private show in my apartment. How rude would that be to sit on the toilet and write while he's playing in the living room. No, NPR's on and Ray's a First Listen artist, his new album streaming for free. And so yeah, this is what life's come to. Picture me the other day, no the other one, confirming that my girlfriend's advice to use my bathroom for a writing place was a good idea. That brings me to this day. After a day of watching after a couple kids I went to the gym, lifted some iron. Some of these guys at the gym should be told, "Hey...that...that weight, it really doesn't have to be up there, you know?" Yet, some iron lifting I did, came back to the apartment, washed my ass, sipped a raspberry ice tea, best drink in the world to settle down for some writing. So, preparation period consists of going on NPR and finding Ray's next album to put on, seemingly a rational thing to do, we all, or should, love music. The next rational thing - I take my pen and pad, say what's up Bobby (my cat Bob Dylan) and walk into the bathroom. I'm sure Ray pictured this when completing the album. The toilet seats down. Finally my roommate, my brother John listened to me -- put the seat down! You think you'd remember, considering the damn shit can was named after you. The seats down, but covered in dust so I walk back out to the hall, pick up a t-shirt that was conveniently placed on the ground, and place it over the dusty seat. I just cleaned my ass. I don't want to dirty-dirty it up again. Yes, this is what life's come to. Let's dissect this bathroom, and I hope my brother enjoys that dusty shirt later.

In the margins I wrote: This writing blows...

Behind the humming-John is a miniature trash can that's overflowing tissues. Next to that can, and behind "the can", are more tissues carefully placed, or another theory is that they fell from the overflowing can that we refuse to empty, it's like it's become a political belief of ours not to empty it and we're sticking to it. The other theory, and only other, is that the shooter missed and was too lazy to follow his shot for the rebound and put back...

...pause bathroom description because I'm sweating...possibly sweating from such a high demand from the public for a description of my bathroom...it's a lot of pressure...

...I'm back, and occasionally when I say I'm back...I say I'm black...

...Directly in from of John are two rugs we bought - I'm not good at Math, but somewhere between 2-4 years ago, it doesn't really matter though because more than likely they've become permanent fixtures to the features of this bathroom, cemented to the ground. Wall tiles are now movable floor tiles, surrounded by more dust, but good thing we still do the college thing, wearing sandals in the shower. I actually do everywhere I go in this apartment...and I suggest you do too...but then again, you will never be invited to this apartment...because you're a dick, you're not?...

...I will pick up this bathroom description at a later date when I'm properly inspired to create such a project...the masses will have to wait...

...

Still in the bathroom writing, I feel depressed, or maybe tired, probably both. I didn't get much sleep last night, difficulties with our band, We're Not John and Yoko, and opinions about what direction we're going in kept us up all night. I do not apologize that this bathroom writing isn't sparkful. It actually makes me think that relationships are similar to bands - "You compared our relationship to a band?...We're breaking up"...Exactly...And, now we're back together. After this bathroom writing, she'll love my smell I'm sure, I'm heading over to her place for another jam session. She's, "Not Yoko", (me, "Not John", comprising the band, We're Not John and Yoko) more of a jammer, likes banging and banging and banging her drums, likes solos, etc. I like to get in the studio (apartment) and get straight to recording, stop asking questions and let the music gods show us the direction...

Ok, this is cool and all, comparing a relationship to a band and its jam sessions. I like the idea, but I think it'll take time for me to understand whether I'm really talking about the relationship, or the fake band, what?...it's not fake!...but for now, you figure out what the next line means. I've got to go because I'm late again for another jam session.

...The Right to Write - Exercise...

Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Wed. Aug. 18, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #8 - R-Train, Bay Ridge, Destination Park Slope, but, well...

Nothing is more important than writing, and I'm sticking to it no matter how many suits and ties surround this journey. I've got my suit on too -- which is the same Old Navy Khaki Cargo Shorts I've worn the entire summer (only exchanged when it's comfort-time with basketball shorts), and today's t-shirt choice, my "Can the Man" t-shirt in black, classy, it's not? (explain Can the Man at later date, but check out the website! cantheman.com)...

...These Old Navy Cargos have the ability to, I say, "Convey the dribble". It doesn't matter how careful I am, how many extra shakes I take, after flushing the toilet or washing my hands, it's going to look like I dribbled in my pants, a little water stain in the no-sunshine arena - and it is an arena, it's like a freakin' circus down there. Now, I'm riding the train, no toilets, no flush, no sink for washing hands, no need to pee even, but this ice coffee, other than too much sugar, has excess condensation and has dripped onto my pants. In these pants, I can't escape the dribble. But they're comfortable so let people laugh...

...This piece of writing is my chair the carpenter created today, he sells it, he has money to feed his face and all the other people/responsibilities attached to him at the moment. I'm not attached to much at the moment. But, specifically, I am attached to this pen, attached to this pad, which when I'm finished will be typed up, posted on Daily Nuggets, and attached to the World Wide Web, and more than likely, attached to the revolution of people truly LOLing all the time. I can see it now - people walking around as they already do, cell in hand, thumbs-a-blazing, texting, but no, now they're reading (it's back in style, it's not?) Daily Nuggets and laughing (LOLing) their heads off, literally...and that guy just tripped over one of the heads and fell into the train tracks, ran over by the train, but he's a dick anyway, nobody morns, he's got no attachments...

...I didn't get off the train at Park Slope. I didn't feel like walking. So, I'll continue riding the train...

The train's a-flowin', but my writing has haulted...I'll pick it up again in a few minutes...

...

I'm tired, I'm lacking vocabulary, I'm anguished, is that better?

I'm on a train heading somewhere, but feel like I'm heading nowhere, what should I do?

I've looked, I've asked, but nobody has given me the line or the que

My brain's racing, my brain's wired, I've presented my papers, but won't be hired

Well, at least I won't get fired

I don't believe in violence, but my imagination just rioted

Heading nowhere

On this train

Listening to The Velvet Underground's song Heroin

At least that's a train I know I will never be upon

The one I'm upon now feels like a tunnel

I will keep riding and writing and one day I will channel...

...

...Now I'm listening to Regina Skektor's Fidelity. I decided to get off at Union Square. I'm now writing, overlooking the best of what New York City has to offer - Shoe Mania, Whole Foods Market, and of course, Forever 21 (only if). And now, I'm listening to a live version of Dylan's Ballad of a Thin Man (a song The Black Panthers listened to often; I feel like a panther now, I don't?). I see tourists taking pictures, and say, "Please not now". A fat-n-black woman...it doesn't have to be in that order, but that's what she is, and the truth will set her free, she's painting - "She's an artist, she's got everything she needs...she can take the dark out of the night and paint the daytime black". I think that's how it goes. I'll ask my cat, Bob Dylan, later...Others are playing Chess, never learned the game -- which reminds me, and in case you forgot - "Life's a game, but it's not a game". I once put on a lecture, dissecting that saying. I passed out a 500 page booklet, and inside on every single page read, "Life's a game, but it's not a game". If you skip a page, you won't make it!. I'm still reading it (I wrote it!)...

...A dude, he's white, he'll probably make it, no?. He can skip a page, no?. Ok, moving on. Another dude walked by. I've never met or even seen him in my life...but....but I hate him, freakin' hate that guy -- "while others hate nothing except hatred" (Dylan) (Dylan Dylan Dylan). Other's are just sitting. That's what most of us do, sit and wait. That carpenter's not waiting, he's creating. Maybe I could learn from him more than those suits. I say suits like I'm against them. No, that's not the case (let's be serious, no seriously). I'm just saying they aren't more important than that carpenter, or me, they are?. Ms. Cameron (the woman I keep mentioning in these "Morning Pages") said to think of a piece of writing like a carpenter and his newly created chair or desk. The carpenter creates the desk and chair, someone else had cut down a tree (so he could make those, and so we can't breathe anymore), but someone else sits down on the chair, begins to write on the desk and paper, a newspaper about saving trees is created (wins an Idea-Award), it's presented to that fat-black woman that just sold her painting, and presented to those playing Chess, and presented to those just sitting there, attached to the World Wide Web, and that's the circle of life. That revolution I explained earlier begins. It has begun, someone just LOLed. Another person's taking pictures, for they know I sparked that revolution, and I say, "Still not now, please"...I'm no longer just sitting.

...The Right to Write - Exercise...

Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Tues. Aug. 17, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #7 - Another Bay Ridge Starbucks @ 6:48 AM

Yes, another Starbucks. It's "the" place to write in New York City, it's not? Yeah, it's similar to the flocks coming from across the nation to NYC and eating at a Connecticut Muffin. I'm aware there's other places to write, and admit this is the comfortable choice. I've hated on Starbucks and will again for many righteous reasons -- but it is a good place to write, get some Wifi with that ice coffee with my name on it so I don't forget which cup is mine. That's not my cup...but I've stolen a couple sip-a-rooskies, she's clueless, otherwise why'd she be dating me? Ella Kennedy on her way?...5 years?...ok, 4?...3 1/2?...no?...ok, then back to 5...

...

I'm coming down. Was up high earlier. Another sleepless night, shot gunning my mind to many unforeseen thoughts -- unseen I hope, or you'd look at me oddly, which you already do, but believe me, it gets pretty insane when you're girlfriend's asleep and you're laughing by yourself. Even my agent, located in the right side of my head, is mocking me, saying he's a figment, or a Fig Newton of my imagination. Try jumping from the novel page you're reading now to five chapters ahead, or jump further into the middle of another book by that author, or a completely different subject all together. That's what my mind's doing when it's severely sleep deprived. I'm present with the song I'm listening to, then I'm back in middle school telling a teacher she sucks, and bursting out laughing in real time. My girlfriend mumbles awake, asking if I said anything. No, I didn't, I don't think so. And I laughed again. Oh, you're delirious again, she says. Five minutes later, I ask, "Are you awake?" Silence. Nothing. "Oh, ok." And I burst out laughing again. It was hilarious, it wasn't?...Next, I'm working at Dunkin' Donuts. Or, was dreaming I was, well, not dreaming like Martin did, but like I was sleeping, but, well, I wasn't sleeping, remember? That's why I'm in this predicament (ridiculous word, it's not?). My writing may lack certain things (but not vocabulary!) so I will tell you to imagine instead of you falling into the imagining state from the crotch-hold of good writing.

Imagine - "Welcome to Dunkin' Donuts"...pause in what you'd like to call disbelief but it's partially acceptance of what your life has become, thinking, they were right, I will be asking "that" question, and here it is, "Can I take your order?"..."Yes, can I get half of a dozen chocolate frosted donuts?"...nothing is said, or confirmed yet. I just stare at him.

(to the left, me taking orders at Dunkin' Donuts, and my expression to the order "a half dozen donuts")

...then, "Oh, I'm sorry, well, no I'm not, I didn't do anything wrong, why'd I be sorry...what did you order, I blacked out?"..."A half dozen chocolate frosted donuts please"...I do the stare again..."Is there another way you could order that sir?" He's dumbfounded - which makes no sense - because obviously this guy hasn't picked up the correct rock and found out that he's - dumb...He says hesitantly, "Half dozen"..."Yes, I heard, but there's another way to order that sir."...Time passes...Then time doesn't pass...Then it does again...Check back later to see what time does next...but then, I give in, "6 donuts sir, 6!" I think donut shoppes should give discounts to those that order 6 donuts instead of the "half dozen". It is simply not necessary to say that, but completely necessary for me to rant...I do not rave, well, anymore - because it's not the 90s anymore and a freckled man lost his glow stick - which is actually the name of my next novel, or album - I haven't decided whether I'm going to print the stories in a book or sing them. Again, picture it - on the cover of a book, atop the best-seller list...well, 2nd on the list...

1. The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown (I know it's old, but was probably atop the list, and I haven't read a book since it came out).

2. A Freckled Man Lost His Glow Stick by Garrett Kennedy

3. Bible by Chris

...And now, I'm back to that song I was listening to...which by the way is Ray Lamontagne's new song New York City is Killing Me, a forever inspiring-and-depressing song as Ray does so often...Next, I'm saying good-bye to my girlfriend because I still can't fall asleep - might as well start the day. I'm reminded of Denzel Washington in John Q (Denzel has never played Denzel better!), and said to Yvette, "It's not goodbye, it's I'll see you later"...we'll see...

...I'm walking down the street and imagine (you should still be too) this as a skit on SNL -- Dude walks out of the door as I pass so we're walking side by side. A new observationalist to this situation might think we're together, not together-together, but a friend or co-worker shooting the shit, walking to the bagel shoppe ("May I take your order?") or train stop. But, we aren't together. We are just two men trying to do our thang in this cold, cold world...actually it's pretty hot this morning. Let the space between my...be my witness...it's sweaty...It's also getting awkward. You've been in this situation before, walking down the street, you're behind someone and feel you're pace is going to catch up to this person, but anticipate you're not going to pass them easily at this pace...so, you debate - should you slow down (probably!...if we want to cross our legs and discuss metaphors...over wine, adult grape juice)...or should you speed up...but then you'll be next to this person for about 5 seconds, a long 5 too, and then it feels like you're in a race, and you start feeling bad that you're beating them, and they didn't even know they were racing (aren't we all, Momma!)...and then, you can't immediately go back to your original pace for at least a block or that person will catch up and you'll start rotating who's in the lead (and if this motherfucker thinks he's leading, he's got another thing coming!)...

...So, in the skit I'd say, "Ok, one of us has to go faster...or slower...because this is getting awkward...and it should probably be you...because this is my pace...I purchased it on EBay"...the moral of the story is that everybody should walk to their own pace...unless you converge with mine...stop fucking up my pace people...get your own...And now, it is time to lift the spirits with another song - Tracy Chapman's Fast Car.

...The Right to Write - Exercise...

Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Mon. Aug. 16, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #6 - Flying Saucer Cafe, Atlantic Ave., BK

So anxious, a race against time this morning with these "Morning Pages". It's got me thinking, like, last night, what am I racing to? I was trying to fall asleep last night, but couldn't. Again! I said to myself, "I'm anxious, but I'm not...I mean, I am...but no, I'm not!" Maybe it's this city and its pace that's got my mind a million miles past my feet.

This anxiousness continued while waiting for the R-train today at 86th Street in Brooklyn. Why can't we humans accept the way things are. I'm not saying accept the status quo and enable "The Man", the boogie man does exist, I knew it! Momma lied...enable "The Man" to continue his greed, whatever. I'm talking about our daily tasks that contribute to this anxiousness. My pen can't catch up to my racing mind no matter how many months it trains to get in better shape.

Our daily tasks - like waiting for that train, or like now, I'm waiting for the clock to hit 10 AM and then it's time to go babysit. I've got 20 minutes. I've been alive now 28 years (happy b-day self!). So, I do have a ballpark estimate of what 20 minutes feels like - why keep clicking the cell, looking for the time? How many times have you clicked your cell, looking for the time, putting it back in your pocket, then asking, "What time is it, again?" We forget to look. It's like we've become that dude Desmond Humes from Lost that thought he had to press a button everyday or the world would blow up.

Sidebar: In the margins I wrote - I don't put much wine in my glass so it looks like I'm making progress, getting things done...

Here I am (another reminder), racing my pen, racing against 10 AM. Yeah, my goal is to write 3 pages every morning, but does my world blow up if I don't meet this self-imposed deadline. Yes, it probably does. I clicked the cell again.

Back to waiting for the train, I wrote:

Stop lookin' in mirror, just work out/ stop conversation about, just drink wine/ stop clock watchin', this ain't no sitcom, you can't change time/ as you look down the line, the wrong way, the train will come when it comes...

...If only we had 3 more people to look down the tracks. That would supply enough magnetic field to pull the train we're all waiting for, right? We all know looking down the tracks doesn't make the train come faster. I've even mocked the people doing it by looking down the tracks the wrong way, this time on purpose (because I'm hilarious, I'm not?), but other times accidentally and then I've got to pretend I'm looking for a person or something other than the train.

Sidebar: Dude sits in couch across from me, seat sinks down further than he thought it would, makes him look like an idiot, even more so than he did before...

Of course, I'm not criticizing this anxious part of society. I'm an all-star (I'm not?) when it comes to worrying about things we have no control over. But, for now it's time for me to take that walk to the house I'm sitting at (sounds like a sentence from a first grader, you know what I mean? If you don't then you didn't finish first grade. I didn't finish my 3 pages yet. My world may blow up. I don't apologize if the pieces hit yours. I will clean up this piece (and my life) after the sitting.

..."Morning Pages" continued...Maybe me missing the 10 AM self-imposed deadline was a good thing, and will lead to better writing. In-between then and now, I read a New York Times article, and my "Morning Pages" relates very much to the article. It's about the ongoing debate on how technology (cell phones, email) and all this multitasking affects our brains, and possibly our decision making. I would like to take my time on this and create an actual article. And, time I should take. I will continue writing later, after the day has developed, and maybe my ideas can blossom too...whatever, yeah, who knows?

New York Times article: Outdoors and Out of Reach, Studying the Brain by Matt Richtel

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/16/technology/16brain.html?ref=technology

...The Right to Write - Exercise

Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Sun. Aug. 15, 2010 - "Morning Pages" Day #5 - A Bay Ridge Dunkin' Donuts

Trying to figure out what to write is difficult. Trying to figure out what to write when you're still trying to figure out why Bay Watch is airing this morning at 9 AM on Comedy Central is more difficult. But then you take a couple sips of this here ice coffee and things become clearer. The person that decided to put Bay Watch on Comedy Central is either extremley hilarious, or the show's on because David Hasselwoff's Roast is airing tonight - Let 'em have it Lisa Lampanelli. I love "LL"...Sit and watch Bay Watch on Comedy Central and you will realize it was meant to be a comedy all along. Comedy Central doesn't even have to write and come up with their shows anymore. Put Bay Watch on there, a couple hours of President Bush's press conferences, some Sarah Palin interviews, and keep the Daily Show and Colbert Report, and the stations as funny as ever. Sarah Palin was SNL's best writer a couple years ago. That's why she quite (resigned!) being Alaska's governor. She's focusing on her comedy career now. Also, add Seventh Heaven (show's hilarious) and Martin (Marr-tin!) to Comedy Central's lineup. Or, even better - create new shows -- Martin, as it is, but split screen...one half Martin, and the other half showing the Palin family sitting down watching Martin...

...Dunkin' Donuts ice coffee = 2 dollars and 25 cents; something you purchased at the 99 Cents store = not 99 Cents; a McDonalds' chococlate milkshake = not sure the cost, Bay Ridge's machines are always broken, or they pour vanilla shakes, trying to pass it off to me as a chocolate shake, leading me to bring it back and point to the cup, "What? Do you think I work at McDonalds? Chocolate shake please"...One more example before the dismount...a pound of ham from the corner deli = $9.37, well then it's $8.67...The Palin family's expressions while watching Martin = Priceless. To even this out, also add the split screen with Ice Cube's family watching Seventh Heaven...Come on Comedy Central. I like the direction you're going in with Bay Watch. Consider my ideas. Remember my last "Morning Pages". I've won awards for my ideas. I've got many more too, so also consider hiring me. I need a job! Unemployment isn't affording me much except the time to write these "Morning Pages" in the first place. And, I am in first place by the way, I'm not?...In case you didn't know and didn't listen to the advice of "you better ask somebody", and now you still don't know -- "Life's a marathon"...and "A box of chocolates"...which is giving me cramps while running the marathon and it's not even that time of month for me yet.

...

I thought of writing a poem for you. I thought of writing a love letter. I rejected those ideas and thought of writing something more concise like a Romance novel. The masses are sick of me writing Romance novels. They say, "Garrett, you're so talented, try another genre"...Ok, so here I am trying this comedy thing. Here I am. I repeat, here I am, not in care you forget, but in case I do. -- A sidebar from the forever-enticing conversation I was having with myself before -- but, I didn't sleep great again last night. I've slept much better over this past year, but am still constantly telling myself what I just wrote - Here I am - or I'll ask the question, "Am I really here?" Yeah, I'm in New York City, and many who didn't grow up here (which I didn't even though with every step and breath, I scream Brooklyn!) think to themselves, "I can't believe I'm actually here, living in New York City." No, that's not what I'm saying to myself...I walk down the street, attempting my new walks, trying them out in Bay Ridge, hoping the Manhattanites will one day accept my new walk. Manhattan walks have become so commercialized though. I'll be walking down the street, from the deli to my apartment, ham pound in hand, and suddenly be like, "Wow, wait, I'm walking down the street." I know I was walking down the street, but there's a difference in casually knowing and truly being present. I'm guessing I'll look back and not remember much of what I've written. I'm sure many writers, if they've written enough, forget much of what they've written. But, at least they were present at the time (maybe not?). As I'm writing, I almost completely forgot I'm in a Dunkin' Donuts, and it has nothing to do with my great focus on this writing. Sleep deprivation disconnects you from being present, your mind's always elsewhere. Being present I think is the most important thing in life. And maybe, writing like I am now, I feel it Ms. Cameron, I'm channeling (my inner-beard again), will lead me to being present again, or at the very least, I can look back and physically see what I've created. It's a love-hate relationship I've got with this sleeping problem. I would never have written those "Sunday Mo Jos" or those songs without being somewhat disconnected. I've called sleep deprivation before - the absence of being present. I don't want to celebrate it, but maybe I should channel it and convert it to thinking it's being completely present. It does allow me (at times) to forget thinking and just write, that channeling Ms. Cameron teaches. But, when it comes to sleeping again, my mind won't shut off and I can't stop thinking, the thoughts so random and unrelated to one another. For now, I'm signing off for today's "Morning Pages". I'm sure I'll bring up insomnia again. Who knows, maybe I actually have written Romance novels and dropped them on my way back from the deli...who knows?...yeah, whos knows?

...The Right to Write - Exercise...

Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Sat. Aug. 14, 2010 - "Morning Pages" Day #4 - Overlooking the Verizono Bridge

When did we decide that "this" is the way we're going to talk to animals. This came to mind after walking passed a woman in this park near the Verizono Bridge talking to her dog like it was a newborn baby - "Do you want me to throw the ball, do you want me to, I'll throw it if you want me to, yeah boy, yeah." Why we decided to talk to babies "that" way is another discussion. I'm not sure what park this is or if it meets the specific qualifications of what makes up a park...but I'm also not sure that specifying which park it is is (the double is) needed. It's a park, or has surroundings that may lead someone to believe it might be a park, and that's enough info about the park -- What? You don't believe I'm in a park? I'm a good writer, but I can't make up this stuff, create fiction like this. That woman really talked like that to her dog. She wasn't alone either. She was with her friend, or "friend". There's one thing to talk to your pet "that" way alone. There's many things we do alone that we wouldn't consider doing in front of other people - and this enables society to work. This woman should consider leaving "that" voice behind walls. Next time she talks like that in public she should be locked up. I know the prisons are overcrowded so let the drug dealers out and put this woman in. One things for sure, putting people in prison for dealing, or using drugs, will never stop the use of drugs. But, you put a woman in prison for talking to her pet like "that" and she'll get the message - - the text message to her cell phone that she probably keeps in her Fanny pack. I told you I'd bring up Fanny packs again. I will not allow them to dictate today's "Morning Pages" though. Let's proceed to talk about how we talk to our pets, and others if we have time. Are you taking notes yet?

Back to the woman and, well, it's caught me again - her Fanny pack. I just wanted to clarify this. Before we waste jail space on this woman, we should consider the idea that she more than likely is a huge fan of Starbucks. After talking to her dog "that" way, she more than likely asked her friend, forgetting to stop talking in "that" voice, "Do you want to go to Starbucks, do you, we can go to Starbucks if you want to?" What I'm getting at here people is that people that love-love (not love-enjoy) Starbucks are the same people that wear Fanny packs and talk to their pets like "that" in front of other people. Forget jail, ship this woman, and those alike, to Starbucksland. I can see it now. Everybody walking around double-fisting their Starbucks' ice coffees that they now advertise have Milk! - when didn't they? They're walking their pets with their "friends" and talking to them "that" way except much faster because they're coked-up, coffee-ed-up, caffeine-ed-up on all that Starbucks (say it in a Boston accent, say it! Starbucks). Even the pets are drinking Starbucks, but shitting everywhere because that new invention of milk in ice coffee doesn't sit well with their stomachs. But no need to worry. Sally (woman's name "is" Sally, it's not?) has plenty of napkins in her Fanny pack to clean up the feces. Now, I don't believe in segregation (what a noble belief). Well, except in the above cases. Speaking of segregation, I think we've got another group that should be shipped to Starbucksland. By the way, although only in my imagination, like Ted in my last "Morning Pages', Starbucksland "is" located in the Heartland of America - whatever that is - because all those that speak of the Heartland like it actually exists and keeps America's heartbeat going, well, they belong in Starbucksland too. So, instead of shipping all those Mo Foes (that's what they're, they're not?) elsewhere, keep them stationary and Starbucksland shall be built around them.

Others that belong in Starbucksland - speaking of segregation, are those that claim they have a favorite president - like, "Yeah, I do like Barack, and in due time, he might be...but yeah, Lincoln is my favorite president." I understand people are historians and have studied history enough to have presidents they dislike, or like, most. But, to declare who's your favorite president is ridiculous, it's not? And, it's the cliche to say Lincoln's your favorite. It's usually either Lincoln or Reagan. That's similar to saying your favorite band is The Rolling Stones or The Beatles. My favorite musician is Bob Dylan, and no, that's not cliche - it's just the way - it should be, it's not? Like that dude "I'll never forget oh what's his name" in that "I'll never forget oh what's that documentaries name" said, "The Stones and Beatles sang for girls. Dylan sang for real men." No, he didn't pen love songs for men. Add yourself to the list of those soon to be shipped to Starbucksland - oh, and your Fanny pack's buckle just snapped and fell to the ground and landed in dog shit, the dog that decided to shit knowing where you'd be walking because he's sick of you talking to him in "that" voice. Basically what I'm getting at (basically) is that Lincoln was right to end slavery. He's my favorite president by the way. But, this country was wrong to end segregation. We just need the correct segregation, we don't? In case you didn't comprehend this whole thing, I will repeat it on a podcast airing soon - recited completely in "that" voice.

...The Right to Write - Exercise...

Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Friday 13, 2010 – Morning Pages - Day #3 – Bay Ridge Starbucks

This is where the legends wrote. And by legends I mean, you know that guy Ted from 86th Street that hands out the Metro every morning, yeah him. He wrote his grocery list many-a-days in this very Starbucks. Other legends, like, well, I’m not sure, but I’ve heard the legends about the legends writing here and I think this is where I’ll create a name for myself…maybe not in writing, but they are hiring, I saw the sign on my way in – and if I apply, maybe I’d get hired and get one of those name tags - "Hello, I'm Garrett, welcome to Starbucks, what's your name so I can write it on your cup so you don't forget which cup is yours like the preschool children do"...no, that's my cup...see, I chewed the edges and that's how I can tell it's mine...Starbucks people – Starbucks.

Starbucks – they are everywhere! Forgot the comedian's name, but he pointed out that there’s so many Starbucks now that you can use them to give directions – “Yeah, you want to go down two blocks and there’s a Starbucks, take a left at the Starbucks and you’ll go two more blocks and there will be another Starbucks, take a right there, go down two more Starbucks and you’ll find that particular Starbucks where those legends wrote”…I’m paraphrasing (and not stealing his joke. I know I’m fucking up the joke, I know…no, I’m giving credit – “Good observation, ‘I’ll never forget oh-what’s his name’”)…Another comedian, Lewis Black, who my brother claims to have done a commercial with, two years later, no commercial yet Jonathan! Lewis Black likes talking about Starbucks too. He said he once came out of a Starbucks and looked across the street and saw another Starbucks. There should be Starbucksland. And all the Starbucks regulars, those people, and by “those people” I mean the people I’m about to explain. These people that stand in the Starbucks' line for over a half hour just to get their large, I mean, Venti? coffee...Starbucksland would give us a chance to control these people - because they ARE, out of control and enabling Starbucks to take over. It will soon be The United States of Starbucks, or The Starbucks' States of America, or simply America will become Starbucksland...todaboconoma, I know.

If such a Starbucks-hater then why go there? You're right, I'm allowing them to take over too. First Starbucks will take over your "Morning Pages'" topic and then your neighborhood corner, then corners to blocks to whole neighborhoods...I thought about bringing in a Dunkin' Donuts coffee, but I'm not THAT much of a rebel. I am rocking an orange beard, which is rebel-esque, but my orange beard and I can't stop the Starbucks' takeover ourselves. I'll play my part though and first stop writing about "it" (do not mention again in this piece!)...

Now what to write about? I didn't choose to write about "the above". Like Ms. Cameron says, writers channel the writing by listening. And I agree, and this allows me not to have to take responsibility for anything I write anymore. I'm just channeling, not writing. I'm not mocking what she's saying. I actually understand because much of my best writing has come from writing very fast and not thinking, or questioning, what I'm writing. I think that's what those legends did. I'll ask Ted when I see him around the way.

Writing about places is cool. NYC is a great place to do that (link to Grand Central paper). But also, forgetting the place (like that place above!) you're in is important as well. Being in the present as much as you can. That gets harder the older you get. And I think that's why as adults (I'm 28 today - am I there yet?) we don't get bored often. It's another reason why we resort to vices like this here ice coffee that's got me hooked -- CA coming soon - that's Coffeeics Anonymous...my name's Garrett and I'm a...I'm an insomniac that, well, I wouldn't say I'm addicted, I just enjoy coffee very much. That's what he said - about alcohol, and he being Ted, that legend that wrote at that "above place"...Insomnia's the addiction. Man could I write when I wasn't sleeping. The sleeping's been much better this past year, thanks for asking Ted. I'm a little sleep deprived this morning though and now I've realized Ted doesn't exist and I just talked aloud and that's why the woman that just blew up the bathroom gave me an odd look. When a woman that blows up public bathrooms gives you odd looks you might reconsider your system you're living. Yeah, I've got a system I call living. You've got yours. We'll see whose works - in the long, long run. Also, added to this woman was a Fanny-pack. I can't tell you when, but I'm guessing Fanny-packs will come up again in these "Morning Pages" - along with "that place above". I like to complain about Fanny-packs. And the people that wear them should be placed in Fannypackland next to that other land we discussed before. I'm channeling now people! And not responsible for this writing. So, forget your emails complaining about how you love your Fanny-pack and how I shouldn't mock it. A teacher once told me, there are no stupid questions. Well, President Clinton once asked what the word "is" meant, equaling a stupid question. Another teacher once told me that mocking others is a sign of low self-esteem and you should treat others the way you want to be treated. Well, both those "teachers" (yes, quotes) wore Fanny-packs, and, well, some people just deserve to be made fun of - ok?...I digress. I'm not sure what that means, but I'd like to do it. So I will pretend to digress and the others in Starbucksland will believe I'm doing it. Yes, I said "that place". Ah well. I will more than likely overcome. My mom once put a Fanny-pack on me and I overcame that (right?)...And I've overcome.

I've learned something today. A teacher once told me you learn one thing everyday (that's it?). Don't tell me what I'm learning. What are you, a teacher? Well, anyways, I did learn today from my writing like Ms. Cameron said I would. She said you can learn lots from writing - about relationships, career directions, etc (more great examples to come, I don't promise...or maybe I do, and a teacher, or Ted, once told me that promises are made to be broken)...Anyways, I have learned from today's "Morning Pages". First, start this channeling thing. I've channeled and will channel again - remember, I'm a rebel. Yeah, I've channeled, or another words, just written and written without picking up the pen and just listening to the voice (or voices) inside my head (Ted). Check out my "Sunday Mo Jos" and the songs I've written. That's channeling people -no idea how I wrote those. Or like Ms. Cameron said, maybe I shouldn't take complete credit for the creation of those. Maybe I was just listening to Ted talking to me. Who knows? Yeah, exactly, who knows?...

Again, I'm hencing...hence, first channel, then start pretending, then others will start believing, and one day maybe I'll actually be living. What I'm talking about is first I'm going to pretend I'm a writer - it's Halloween everyday! "What are you this year, a writer? Oh, awesome costume, " joked that dick wearing the Fanny-pack. He's hilarious. First pretend, then a few people will start believing I'm a writer. Ted already believes it! Then a few more will start believing it. And then one day maybe I'll believe it and wake up one morning, maybe tomorrow, and find myself living it. But first, I've got to escape from Starbucksland. I'm still overcoming. I digress...and digest and will continue channeling my inner-beard, a stroke at a time.

...The Right to Write - Exercise...

Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Thursday Aug. 12, 2010 - Morning Pages - Day #2 - Upper East Side Dunkin' Donuts

I've got my ice coffee (fuck calling it "Iced"), got my chocolate frosted/sprinkled donut (I didn't order sprinkles, it came with it), and my Dunkin' Donuts window seat view...two pay-phones growing mold on the receivers as I write - what a view -- hence (I like to hence often when writing / probably not a good thing)...hence, I've got it all! And now I'm ready (as I'll ever be) to write today's "Morning Pages" -- and it is morning this time. It's 11:12 AM. I awoke at 8AM though, showered, had some low-fat vanilla yogurt, a new discovery of mine...was deprived on many things as a youngster...no yogurt in my diet was one of them...I took the trip from Bay Ridge Brooklyn to the Upper East Side to write today's "Morning Pages". Why here? Well, a friend lives nearby (which I have no plans in meeting of meeting), but once I wrote in a park that inspired many award-winning thoughts of mine...The Thought-Awards 2010, airing this Fall! - "Garrett Kennedy once thought...he deserves an award for that"...

I walked to the park, but first got off the train, walked outside and saw that it had rained. When I got to the park my suspicion was confirmed - all the benches and tables were wet. It hasn't rained much in a month. It does on the day I decide to travel an hour and fifteen minutes to a damn park to write outside. Where was that ironic warning in your song Alanis Morissette? - many of which warnings in your song are not ironic - like this here occasion for me...just simple bad luck - bullshit Jesus!...But anyways, I've go my ice coffee. That's my vice (along with sleep deprivation). We all have vices - say it's food, some drugs, music, sex...reading...Yeah, reading as somebody's vice. Man, that Carl, he's reading again. Or, what about Gandhi's? What was his vice? Gandhi's vice was no-vices. Man, that Gandhi man, he's on that no-vice shit again, man he's crazy (man man man)...back to the food vice. This might be the worst as I'm reminded of Krispy-Kreme's new "donut-bacon burger" -- And Armageddon has begun. It's worse than we thought too. Instead of a big bang because of an asteroid or something and the world ending immediately, we're in a slow decay transforming into the epitome of "you are what you eat"...you come up with what a person becomes after eating a donut bacon burger. I've got better things to do with my time than discuss the people that actually order that. Just when I thought "you've got to be kidding me" -- you don't have to be...

...Somebody's using the pay phone. I write that like it should be breaking news, or at least on the bottom scroller. Scroller -- Upper East Side news -- outside Dunkin' Donuts, a man used the pay phone, witnesses were speechless so we have no quotes...think about the last time you used a pay phone. If it was in the 2000s then it couldn't have been for a good reason - shit must have gone down -- when is an occasion when shit must have gone up?...ask the college kid that drank too much last night...there's your answer...

...the pay phone's outside across the street from a church in case somebody wants to call Jesus and make an appointment. He disguises it, but hates when people just pop-in. He could be just getting out of the shower, or waking up after a night out with some old buddies, or enjoying some pleasure reading of what we call history, or fact, as he reads and shakes his head, "This isn't how it happened"...or maybe he's still laughing at my brother saying, "Jesus, I fucking love that guy", and then you walk in and ask for forgiveness, which he easily gives you every time so you can get the Hell out of there and he can go on with his day...use the pay phone, make an appointment with Jesus' secretary first - that's all I'm saying...

...It's now raining again. I have almost finished today's "Morning Pages" and was thinking about walking around trying to find a bookstore to read/write in -- but no, it's raining, and I never bring an umbrella, unless I play Rihanna's song "Umbrella" on my Ipod...or, if it's really sunny out. Yes, I'm one of those people that break out the umbrella when it's sunny out - wait - no, I'm not. These people make me want to reconsider my opinion on the death penalty - they must go...but anyways, my quest for a bookstore will have to wait until it stops raining - it's coming down now! (not that shit we were discussing before, but the rain) -- Unless! - I go across the street, ask for forgiveness (he knows what I did!) and mide as well ask for more and ask for it to stop raining -- but I don't have time (except the rest of my life) to make an appointment. I'm just going to pop-in. It's time Jesus gets up anyways...I take the last few sips of ice coffee, no it's coffee ice now (ha!) (no ha!), put on my headphones (ask the Lord where I should roam)...(pause)...I'm writing this and a nun actually walks into Dunkin' Donuts. She's drinking coffee...she's telling me, it's OK, Jesus has vices too. Yeah, he likes his ice coffee too, and like you, doesn't call it Iced. I take a couple sips of my coffee, she tries to hide her annoyance and then I try to hide mine at the idea that people get annoyed or consider it improper to make that sipping noise when you're down to the bottom of a cup - get over it! -- She did, and proceeded to tell me about Jesus' vice. He doesn't consider it a vice though. She said he doesn't like to get too religious, but he calls them prayers. She said think about your future and what you want. Think about your vice. Ice coffee huh? And sleep deprivation? What else? Music? Great...Now ask yourself whether those add to that future you want...She said some days you'll be convinced they don't, but other days you'll rationalize that they do...I feel like I'm writing The Shack!...

Pause here for today's "Morning Pages" - I like what I'm writing here and will add later -- it has stopped raining for the most part, the nun's listening to her Ipod now. I guess before I was just talking to myself the whole time. Yeah, I thought I was really talking to the nun too! I gather my stuff, walk toward the door, the nun's in the zone...well, not "thee zone", but "her zone" - and she doesn't know I exist except for me being that weirdo that stopped before the door and seemed to be narrating in front of her. I'm glad to supply a story for her to share with the other sistas later...She shuffles the Ipod -- and I fall into corniness (I guess?) and imagine her pressing pause and telling me, "Forget Jesus, make an appointment for yourself...everyday"...I walk out the door...knock on the window and mouth to the nun, "Don't tell me what to do"...and go and try to find that bookstore.

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Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)

Wed. August 11, 2010 - Morning Pages - Day #1 - Central Brooklyn Public Library

Looking at the date above isn't intimatdating at all, especially considering I'm at the libray and am about to shit in my pants -- and I'll be damned if I place my beautiful ass on these toilet seats. Julia Cameron is a writer, a visionary (or at least she thinks so). I'm guessing she envisioned those participating in her "Morning Pages" exercise would begin with something like this. I'm a writer, a visionary (or at least I think so) and I envisioned many topics to jump-off day #1 of my "Morning Pages" on my walk to the Central Brooklyn Library near Grand Army Plaza. Let's go over those topics I envisioned.

Note: Don't make eye-contact with woman wearing glasses in cubical diaginal from you. Her computer keeps making noises, she keeps apologizing, at this point I think to herself, and on second thought, I think it's a man...no eye-contact...

First, Julia Cameron's The Right to Write has many intiation tools to get writers writing. She says her most effective one is the "Morning Pages". She's been a full-time writer for over 30 years and every morning shes wakes up, puts on coffee and starts writing her 3 pages -- which now she's pretty competant in accomplishing in approx. 20 minutes. The idea is not how long it takes, but the act of writing every day and this task is supposed to last 90 days. I'm on day #1...2 and 1/4 pages and 89 days to go -- off to a great start. I've attempted similar projects on my own, but have never followed through. I've begun writing before, making proclamations - like, if you don't write today you can't see your girlfriend. I still have that writing in some notebook I couldn't find earlier today -- but I do know that proclamation lasted maybe a week. I thought about making another proclamation, but I now reject that idea adn will take Ms. Cameron's advice, which is the "just do it" attitude. She does not have an endorsement deal with Nike (but I do so I'm obligated to mention the company), but good advice, nonetheless. So, no proclamation, or lists of what I want to write here, or anymore -- just writing -- and here we go.

Sidebar: Sittin in library, pen in hand, no ideas stand, stroking my newly grown beard, diagnally across from woMan, she's weird and also is stroking a beard, told ya about how once upon a time, she I feared, and eye-contact was made, she smiled and forced that forced smile and now I feel weird...so for now I'm gonna continue stroking, n-stroking, n-stroking me beard 'cause I've got nothing to write and stroking a beard just might lend me insight into something that'll enable someone like me to sleep with themselves tonight...goodnight...

The problem, or my problem, or one of my many problems, "Mo money, mo problems", something I can't relate to...a problem is that all I'm doing is trying to fill up 3 pages and feel this writing sucks...it doesn't mean anything. I know this is what all writers feel at some point, but -- but nothing...keep writing and you'll feel better afterwards says Ms. Cameron...but first I"m going to pause to take a leak.

Yeah, I've scratched the proclamation idea; however, I do have ideas for this 90 days project. Each day I want (notice I say "want" now...in the past, with those proclamations, I've said "will"; "we'll see" is what lingers now)...Each day I want to write some place different. Ms. Cameron talks about writers being different. Writers write in different places and I need to find what works for me, what's "comfortable". To me, that word "confortable" is dangerous though. Confort lacks spontaneity and new experience. So, I want to write in a different place everyday. Today's spot's the Central Brooklyn Public Library. Tomorrow's spot? Who knows. I'm going to, or want to, we'll see, wake up and decide spontaneously, maybe even just ride trains and write - like Ms. Cameron said, see where the writing (or riding) takes me. The other part of the idea is that I will wake up do this as if I had a 9-5 job -- "as if"...These are supposed to be done in the morning, hence "Morning Pages" -- I think Dylan had a song called that...or was it "My Back Pages"? - I think so. Today I go a late start (but you're right! I've made up for it with this great writing!)...pause for leak again...damn ice coffees!...

I'm back. A successful trip to John. Writing "The John" is a waste of paper...which leads you to tell me that telling/writing you that writing "The John" is a waste of paper IS a waste of paper...but in the end (and it's near, for you) it is not a waste of paper...and neither was my idea about starting a newspaper dedicated to saving trees!...I needed to explain thus here so in the future people simply say, "I've got to go to bathroom, I'm going to, or where's John"...explain this revolution in further detail at a future date...a successful trip to John (Jon?)...

My continued idea...Everyday, a different palce to write these "Morning Pages", and always have two books -- a novel, or pleasure book, and a writing book. Today I have Julia Cameron's The Right to Write, and Ben Mezrich's 21: Bringing Down the House. Reading these will keep me writing, and fill "the well" a writer needs to fill (as Ms. Cameron says)..."Well", that essentially concludes today's "Morning Pages" (even though it's 3 PM...how long do quotes have to be used?). Tomorrow I will, I want to get off to a better, earlier start. Along with that John-trip, I'd say this has been a successful day #1 of my "Morning Pages" - quotes still needed because it's 3:05 "PM"...hence "Morning" and forever hence "successful".