...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.