Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)Fri. Sept. 3, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #24 - Presently walking to apartment at 3:30 AM...
Walking, not sleeping, it's 3:30 AM, yes walking, impressive, a dedication to staying in shape, yes, but not quite on the level of the woman that just jogged passed me. She was jogging, or running from the police, but she was (probably still is) white, and we, as in pasty people, holding the fist high, wouldn't run, we'd tell the cops to talk to our lawyers...That is here, and it's over there, but also it's beside my point. Jogging at 3:30 AM is another example of, how insane we all are, and the lengths we'll go to figure life out. I have to believe that woman is not just jogging at this hour for endurance and health reasons. For me, writing at 3:30 AM seems to be quite a dedication to the craft, I know. But, as many losers will tell you, like you've never heard or thought before, "everything's not the way it seems"...and well, I didn't choose to write at this hour. Another bad night sleep; however, I am writing...and let the unnrested mind keep jogging, yet it's throbbing. People often tell me I've got tired eyes, well, they should see my mind. I'm going to try to get in some rest, a cap-nap can I at least get?...and I will pick up today's "Morning Pages" later, hopefully at sane hours.
It's later...I'm back and editing a previous "Morning Pages" before posting, and think about a day this could really be published, I tear, smile, get lost in the moment...then come down to reality, and think, well, I'm still traveling back, but maybe don't want to...
It's later, again...but this time, I'm up high, feeling good after editing some writing that for some reason reminds me of a writing I did before I started any of these "Morning Pages". I wrote something about writing a novel, a statement, kind of. I will find it later and attach it to a future "Morning Pages". Presently, I'm not writing neatly, or in-between these lines on the yellow legal pad, thinking it's a good thing, writing more freely, taking notes, sketching -- like Mos Def, of course, "On loose-leaf sheets, I sketched the big plan" (check quote later)...Mos Definetely heading somewhere, I'm not?...
I jotted down on the pad: relate getting somewhere with writing to getting somewhere in a relationship...can't get there fast enough...but will, with both, if I keep writing, I have to believe... Crusty Chest Hair...nobody's noticed I'm insane yet...text to Tom (sideways along this writing, I wrote, write out!)...
It's later, again...and time to write the above out, I guess...and so...
...I think of this writing and relate it to a relationship, can't get there fast enough, when thinking of what both could become...but also think, with both, that I will get there, as long as I keep writing, I have to believe...then my insomniac mind switches topics, suddenly thinking up a band named Crusty Chest Hair...ladies and gentlemen, Crusty Chest Hair (applause)...And then, I think, yes, at least nobody's noticed I'm insane yet. My friend Tom had text me yesterday, asking essentially, "What's up?", and it's time to get back to him, the text traveling from New York City to wherever he's landed these days, in Virginia...all part of the plans, our plans, I'm sure...I text Tom: Hey. i'm unemployed. first time ive wanted school to start. but writing everyday. i think im insane. check out www.garrettk.blogspot.com/...
I'm still at my girlfriend's, editing...somewhere after the 3:30 AM walking, attempts at cat-naps, and writing, I landed here. I pass her cat, Bumble, on the way to the bathroom, he says, "Get a job"...I say, "Same to you"...and plus, school starts soon and I've a got a gig set up, and anyways, I will be looking for work, again, after this bathroom break, and I could use some help with the search - so make your paws useful...I'm listening to Rickie Lee Jones telling someone to come into town on their donkey tonight...metaphorically we are all coming into town on our donkeys, some tonight, others tomorrow, others years down a road, dirt road of life, right?...well, the Kennedy family used to have rocks in our driveway...how we've long traveled from that road...todaboconoma...
...I'm texting Tom again...I haven't talked to him in awhile, I think I've forgotten what his voice sounds like, my generation, I guess, texting, not phone chatting...but I know his texting voice though, he's got his style, I've got mine, you desperately need to get your own...Tom asked about our mutual friend, Nate. I'm having trouble spelling promotion, maybe because I've never received one...I try premotion, permotion, oh, promotion...the motion of becoming pro...Nate got a promotion, fuck him...he's everything...but professional, and...congratulations!...And so, I'm thinking, every blog post, a foot closer to becoming pro, in writing, and more like Nate, the average, not great...I text Tom about Nate's promotion at Subway, dude can really make a sandwich...I guess...and forever will...
I jotted down on the pad, trying to get it all down: talking w/ Loren about writing/ about Dylan/ we're so much like them, he can be Ginsberg though...what did they do for money?...(write out on next page)...
It's later, again, I'm "writing out" on that next page...All this writing makes me think of a few conversations I had with another friend, Loren, from college, and also an aspiring writer. I mentioned Can the Man briefly, well, that's his creation...We talked about writing, suggesting books and other readings, etc. for one another. Actually, he did most of the talking, often at The Red Lion, a Greenich Village bar with Live Music, check it out. He talked and talked, inspiring my lyric, "He talked about books like some talk about wine and I just ain't got the time"...no disrepect to him, and I'm sure none taken by him, but in case he becomes a pansy, and is offended, sorry man...The conversations were cool though, and in retrospect, are probably another reason I'm finally writing on a regular basis...yes, bars, cafes in Greenwich Village, making like Dylan and Ginsberg in the 60s, he can be Ginsberg though - "Not that there's anything wrong it" (Seinfeld)...what did they do for money?...well, before the millions of records sold, etc....And, yes, I'm aware in order to be Dylan one must at least play guitar...well, I've got my No-String Walmart Acoustic my parents gave me like 8 years ago for Christmas - that my brother keeps taking out of the closet, Jammin', did I mention it has no strings, that's how much soul the guitar has, it just plays...man...First, get guitar, let it sit there for 4 years, collecting dust...move to NYC (like Dylan, so much), let guitar collect more dust, "Brooklyn Dust", there's nothing like it, and is another band playing soon near you!...every few weeks take guitar out of the closet, play it, but make sure you do so while loud music's on, it drowns out the missed notes, which is every note, but boy it sounds so sweat, like music!, when there's other music playing...bang and bang on it, every new jam session it losing another string (metaphorin' again?) until you get to that point, no strings left, but it's got so much soul, remember?, it doesn't need strings, and you're the next Dylan?, you're not?...you're right, I am...because I mixed in some songwriting along the way too, I didn't?...
...Yeah, but those conversations with Loren...they also consisted of those cliche questions of what we're doing with our lives, etc. and whatever, and who knows? as well...he told me he started writing a novel, I think it's called Journey of a Man, check name later...so much to do later, right?...but I do recall it sounding like it'd be something like an On the Road, Jack Keroauc-type thing, check my post about that book, here, scroll down to find, something good is worth searching for...he's working on his...I'm telling you about that...and realizing, maybe I'm working on mine, aren't we all momma!?...my ice coffee melts, more ice coffee, a little watery though, another metaphor for life...sometimes life just gets a little watery...New Orleans knows what I'm talking about here...stare at another wall and dissect that one...or start your own novel, whatever floats your...life boat...
...We're all working on something, sleeping problems, drinking problems, sandwich construction problems, novels, Loren's writing and selling them now...dusting guitars with no strings off, getting in fights over who's going to be Dylan or Ginsberg, read his poem Howl, the band Black Rebel Motorcycle Club named their 3rd album after it, a great album, listen to that as well...All working in different forms, I guess, trying to get that "promotion", and also an invitation into adulthood, vomit, hopefully not on today's "Morning Pages", pages which are becoming less morning-ish more often, whatever...
Jotted on pad: Finding oneself, like, what to call this writing/ call it something and live with it...I've finally called it something, "Morning Pages"...and, on, I'm living, feeling like I'm, and this writing's, heading somewhere...somehow it has to, it doesnt'?...
...My train's coming and I just have to figure out where to catch it...Life's a long train ride...a roller coaster too!, remember?...and...life's also a long song, putting the needle to the record, and mine's gonna keep playing...I text my cat, Bob Dylan...tell him to put the air conditioning on, I'm coming home.
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