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

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

Mon. Sept. 6, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #27 - Off West 4th St./Washington Sq. stop...walking around trying to find bathroom...still walking...finding a park without a care to find out its name, after talking to Jamaican Prophet...

...The Jamaican Prophet reminded me of many things, two worth mentioning: One, when writing, keep it simple, and, two, prophets are Yankee fans...On my way to nowhere, for today's "Morning Pages'" journey, I decided, but feels like someone else really made the decision, to get off West 4th Street/Washington Square, thinking the park would be a good place to write. During my train ride, on the D, I was reading Ms. Cameron's The Right to Write. I've talked about seeing signs, that I'm heading in the right direction, my right direction, get your own. I think back to Cat Stevens (almost wrote, Williams...crossed it out) singing in Starbucks(land), "Do what you want", thinking about this while reading Cameron's chapter about ESP. Signs are everywhere, it may be hard for you to read them...but that's because YOU can't read...and purchased this writing on tape (that's where this writing is heading, it's not?)...But, the signs are out there, in many different forms - - a song, a book, Paulo Coelho's?, or another being, a Jamaican Prophet. I ran into him today on my train ride...ran into him, yes, because I enjoy a pleasant train ride, and jog on it from time to time, and this time, he got in the way, maybe trying to take "the charge", but no whistle was blown, I must have beaten him to the spot, he didn't have proper position, etc. Let me move my seat from this bench to possibly a coffee shoppe chair. ESP just told me to do that, maybe this bench isn't the right place to tell this story, to see the signs, or maybe my ass just needs a different cushion for comfort, to story tell. I don't know, but I'll listen to this sign, for now. I wonder where Ace of Base (their song, "I Saw the Sign") are? I'll sign back on to today's pages when I find that seat, and tell you more about the Jamaican Prophet...and, a yes, to your question...I am insane...walking down a street, trying to find that seat...

...And so, I have found that seat, a more familiar one, on the floor of a Park Slope Barnes and Noble, Paulo Coelho's book Warrior of the Light piled atop The Right to Write. The signs are there, or at least I'm letting Cat Stevens, Paulo Coelho and Ms. Cameron, trick my insomniac mind into believing so. This bookstore is a familiar place I've often come to just to get away, remember, to hide my selves in the aisles of bookshelves. It's a familiar place, like home, but away from home. Home was always Connecticut, now it's NYC, but as an insomniac, I feel like my mind will never get all the way back home, home being a state of mind, who I used to be, not just a physical place, feeling there is no direction home, a forced metaphor to convince, or self-trick, into believing I am like Dylan, a reference to Martin Scorsese's documentary about Dylan, No Direction Home (when I get my computer files back, I will add lyrics I wrote about me inserting Dylan's name so much to the point people will be tricked into comparing me to him, they won't?)...Here's some useless information, but it does relate...Ms. Cameron, the author of The Right to Write, is Scorsese's ex-wife...a sign?...eh, there are too many to comprehend which ones are useful...keep it simple, said the Jamaican Prophet...and yes, believing in a prophet is keeping it simple, it certainly is...

...I want to go home, I'll accept the physical one now, but, think, "only if" I could just get back there mentally, etc. and, for now, whatever...I've got a story to tell now, it's about me following the signs, and finding that seat for my ass, presently a sweaty one, from walking so much...maybe I should have listened to myself and slowed down while walking, having a possible cooling effect, maybe...story time, children...

...I'll go into detail about the Jamaican Prophet later, but before I listen to his advice about keeping writing simple, I'm going to make it complicated...I said Paulo Coelho's Warrior of the Light is next to me, a book I read last year sometime, and also read The Alchemist, his most famous book. I'm inclined to buy this book, even though I've already read it...and now I've realized Coelho's agenda here...Warrior has many of those signs, and talks about how the universe will conspire to help you, you just have to recognize the signs...let's take a look at my day, and how it lead me here, realizing his agenda...I do recall him mentioning how I'll doubt myself while the universe does this, all the while, being sleep deprived?...so, that does intrigue me to read it over again, at a later date...

Jotted in Moleskine after chatting with Jamaican prophet: Everyday seems so normal, so uneventful, it's not easy to make everyday exciting, adventurous, but sometimes it just takes a train ride for a story to happen - insert Dylan/walkin in rain lyric -...

...That's what I jotted, word for word - dash mark for dash mark...here's that lyric I'm supposed to insert, which also had been jotted down in Moleskine: Listen to "Like A Rolling Stone" so much it's become my "Groundhog Day" song that I wake up to everyday/ everyday's the same/ so why not take your time/and walk in the rain...

...See, I didn't need Cat Stevens to tell me to do what I want, I've wanted to slow life down, thought maybe if I walk slower, it's hard to keep up with New Yorkers, life would slow down, less anxiety, and maybe more sleep. After writing that, I tell myself to listen to the sign from the Jamaican Prophet, keep writing simple, ok , so I'll simplify...if I walk slower, listening to my own advice, I wouldn't have a sweaty ass right now, a lesson for all the kids out there, or is it for adults?...

...I rub my eyes, trying to reach my brain, the part that really needs the massage, and is begging for a happy-ending - to this nightmare...nightmare of never falling asleep, that makes no sense (possibly at a later date relate to - All is well when we sink to hell lyrics I wrote)...I'm listening to myself, I like today's writing so far, it's unorganized, but it's getting, somewhere...and, I didn't like the journey to this part of the day, but I'm getting somewhere with this day -- but I'm telling myself, reminded of Cameron's chapter on ESP, to take a break, go lift some iron at that expensive gym, and sign back on later...later...

...

Jotted on pad: So attached to cell phone, I hear its ringtone, to later realize it didn't ring...and realize all of the insanity life's gonna bring...

...

...And so, I'm signing back on, with Coelho, Cat Stevens, and Ms. Cameron having me believing in signs, the universe will conspire to work for you Coelho says, he's got me hooked...and so, what seemed like an ordinary day gone bad, was just someone, was it God?...am I writing my version of The Shack, or The Alchemist?...and, well, as written in my song The Book of Just The In-Between Lines, "Oh geez...we're all bound to go crazy, searching for our great discovery...like John Nash...oh where, oh where, can such be found in this Hocus Pocus land?"...

...Insomniac Thought-Dreams Gone Wild!...apparently, infomericals in the works...but, I'm ESPing...and, so on...The first "sign" was in the form of that Jamaican Prophet I keep mentioning, but won't explain to you what he's about, get your own sign, playa...but, there's no need to worry, I'll tell you about him in due time, we're walking through this writing this time, we aren't?...I had met this guy coming off the D-train, a train I rarely ride, but got off West 4th Street, like I said, thinking Washington Square Park would be a good place to write. I didn't hear or understand much of what he said, but what I did, I'll tell you about later. We went our different ways, after he blabbered (yes, that's my word choice) for a real 10 minute count, believe me, I counted...aloud while he was talking, he seemed unfazed though, not swayed off his path, so whys he getting in the way of mine?. We parted, I walked up the stairs with a urination sensation, was in good spirits otherwise, tired, but ready as I'll ever be to write, I wasn't?...The search for the bathroom was on. I've ranted about Starbucks, call me a hypocrite, you'll soon be the accused too, but I assumed there would be 1 or 11 to 15 nearby, so I walked, walked, threw in a skip, not or two, because that would be Sally-esque, everything my essence, snot ("snot", short for "is not", but now it's longer because of me having to provide an explanation)...I'd like to get to the point of this story, would like to take the easy way out, and say, "To make a long story short"...But, I fear when someone's inclined to say that, they must be sensing the story isn't going that well, that it isn't very good, and to save the audience, they say, "To make a long story short", and so on...but I'm channeling here, and listening to myself, thinking that this is a good story, and anyways, the whole spiel about a long story short has made this story long enough...so...

...So, hence, to make this long story, not short, but to get to its point -- well, Coelho had me hooked into believing this ordinary day gone bad, bad because I proceeded to look for a bathroom for like an hour, finally finding a Starbucks, had found one earlier, but there was a long line for the bathroom...I finally relieved myself, but the day already seemed ruined, my head hurt so I got pizza, pizza worse than the Bay Ridge's pizza that's so generic it's unique....and that made me nauseous, and so is this story, and this writing...it's an exercise though, it happens...also, just a bad day, we all have them...so, I headed to the Barnes and Noble without writing much...I've said before that at times I don't feel like I'm conducting this pen, well, today I didn't feel like I was conducting any of myself...on my way home, somebody decided to pull me off the train, stopping at 9th Street, leading me to this Barnes and Noble...none of today was going as I planned, not that I had a plan...sometimes all it takes is a train ride for a story, or one of those signs...I guess, and forever will...

...I got to Barnes and Noble in a little better spirits, but again in the need of relieving oneself...After a bathroom trip I sat down on the floor, remember, my ass was sweating from walking too fast, having not listened to myself to walk slowly, slow down in life, as I race this pen to get it all down...signs, believing in them, I might be racing, but, at least this isn't tip-toeing or sitting anymore, right?...

...Ok, the point...I was thinking Coelho's agenda was to get me hooked on his whole signs idea, Cameron too!...make me believe I woke up, traveled an hour, to only walk around for an hour just to find a bathroom -- but me being hooked by his philosophy, I tell myself this is all a part of the signs, maybe he knows about taking leaps of faith, like taking a dump on a public bathroom, was that a sign?...He's got me believing that me walking around, bathroom shopping, is the world conspiring to help me out, this leading me back to Barnes and Noble, passing a bookshelf with his books visible for all to see, and so I recall his book The Warrior of the Light, and his agenda's revealed, me thinking about buying his book, he's basically a drug dealer, getting me hooked on his product which is essentially believing in oneself, leading me back to a bookstore to buy his book...that's either the case or maybe these two writers, Coelho and Cameron, throw Cat Stevens a bone too, know what they're talking about...all I'm saying is what the hell was that today with that Jamaican guy, a sign?...I called him a prophet, jokingly, but he really was just some dude, yes, a Jamaican, and yes, was wearing a Yankee hat, remember, prophets are Yankee fans too?...

...This is a true story, a long-story, gone short, gone long, again...I unconsciously saw him peeping my way, during look-ups, look-sides, from reading Cameron's book...I think he noticed and was interested...we got off the train and he asked me what I was studying, I said writing...and, he went off...again, I couldn't understand much...but, he honestly mentioned Michael Jackson and Ricky Martin a couple of times...but in the end, I took a couple of things from the conversation, in which I didn't participate much in, shakes of the head in agreements mostly...He said, keep your writing simple, don't make it complicated...We said our goodbyes, and he said he looked forward to reading my book soon???....Ha, I gotta laugh...I never mentioned I was writing a book...I know I scream novelist, but, um, what?...Should I brush this guy off like he's just some nut, or have more sympathy, and think he's just a good guy, maybe needing a friend, and liked giving a youngster some advice?...Or, was he a sign?...Let's not go too far and call him that prophet, but who knows, who knows...I'm gonna go write that novel now...

...Sign?, just saying...I jotted the following down in Moleskine on Sat. Sept. 4, 2010, before meeting that Jamaican Prophet: T-shirt - Warning train riders, you will one day become characters in my novels.