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.
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