Initiation Tool - create "Morning Pages", writing 3 pages longhand every morning (90 days straight)Sept. 10, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day 31 - Apartment, failed attempt, writing @ 5:06 AM...
...Another failed attempt, yes, but will not miss this opportunity to steal time and write. Apparently I'm learning, "finally," my momma screamed, hearing it all the way from Connecticut, rattling Brooklyn awake. Even most New Yorkers have checked out today and have been sleeping for hours, since yesterday actually...not this guy though. And, yes, apparently I'm learning that you can't beat time, but you can steal time -- thief!...God, or whoever is conducting this life, can steal my sleep, so I'll steal something back, and time I have chosen - and chosen to write during this stolen time. It's odd though. I've never stolen before...I thought I'd be racing and nervous about getting caught. But, I guess even criminals are asleep this hour, NYPD too, a code, an agreement, we won't steal when people are supposed to be sleeping. Well, nobody's going to read this anyways, until I'm dead, so they'll have to arrest me from my grave for this crime. Yeah, I can't be the one conducting this pen, can I?...And, it feels, oh too often, that I'm not the one conducting this life...although...
...I feel like I'm finally returning, finally coming back to who I was, feeling more in control of the path I choose. Before, when the sleeping was at its worst, I didn't feel in control at all. I joke, sort of, like who's conducting this pen, etc., but before, it felt like someone else was making my decisions. It felt like I was out of my body walking along side myself observing somebody else as Garrett Kennedy, and fucking up my shit, I might add...and just did...That feeling is ending...but it feels fragile though...like I could jump off my wagon and return to those worst stages. I mean, I am up at 6:08 AM, and had written earlier, tried to go back to sleep, but failed again...Actually, I'm pretty good at the trying part of falling asleep. I've been trying, working my ass off, trying to fall asleep since college. "Since college"...saying that is enough insanity for anyone to say...and then add that "trying to fall asleep" is your full-time job, and that you're considering declaring it your career, well let the insanity pile...The trying I've got down, it's the succeeding that voids me...But, I do feel like I'm coming back -- hence the following:
...I'm slowly returnin'...
...The tortoise's patience is burnin'...
...and...
...I can see life creepin' back into my face...
...And one day you'll see it bleed through this pen...
...And so,
...What shall we do between now and then?...
...Yes, I can feel myself returning, and shaping into who I want to become...I can see it in recent pictures, check Facebook, shameless plug, I just landed an endorsement deal, not bragging, just updating you on my personal current events, check my status...or don't...But, I still feel like I'm heading down a road, and I'm not the one driving, no music is on, like in a movie, complete silence, window shield view, just driving, and seeing the snow in slow motion flash by...I don't feel there's a chance to crash, or that my life's in danger, or immediate danger, maybe that's down this road, I don't know, like I've said before, who knows?...For now though, I don't feel that danger, but definitely feel intoxicated in some fashion, still out of my body, it's a good thing I'm not the one doing the driving, remember...I truly feel out of my body, remember me, or someone? walking down the street reminding themselves, "I'm here" ?...And, presently I am here. This writing is that proof...but, I'm awake again to see another night turn into day...which sounds beautiful and inspiring in some context, but this isn't that corny movie with a corny message at the end, telling you, at least you've lived to see another day...no, it's not that movie, I haven't written that one yet...but I'm sure a million others have...it's not that movie, it's my life...and I'll cry if I want to...
...I feel like I'm at a crossroads to my life...not the crossroads where blues singers sell their soul...I'm not a blues singer...yet...I don't have a suitcase...anymore...my cat, Bob Dylan, pissed on it, and I through it away...check this...
...I'm at the station...
...Without a suitcase in my hand...
...So I guess I'll never be a blues man...
...Oh well, what the hell, a man to do now?...
...Take a train, get off...
...And down the tracks, get back on again...man...
...I wrote that, or my ghostwriter did, whoever, or whom? ever that is, on 2/26/10, p. 35, Moleskine...
I blacked out for a few seconds, or years, who wrote that?...Yes, I am at a crossroads in my life...I feel like I've gotten to the point where I'm going to, or not going to, pursue writing...this is presently my attempt, it isn't?...oh yeah, it's not me writing...Again, I'm trying...we'll see...we'll see...I have to see, I truly don't want them to have to arrest me in my grave, and not be able to witness people's reaction to this...I guess there could be many reasons, at this crossroads, I chosen to pursue, if that's what I'm doing...I wrote in Moleskine on 9/4/10:...because I wanted, wished, and stared at too many walls not to pursue...
...That could be a reason...another could be my girlfriend forcing my hand...it wouldn't be the first time!...Again, it's hard to comprehend, my life has changed so much this past year, and for the better, and mostly because of her...but like I said, I'm still returning, maybe hungover from sleep deprivation, and of course it's 6:42 AM, and I haven't slept yet, so sprinkle some extra 'tion on there why don't you...Maybe it's like the lyric I wrote...I don't remember the exact phrasing, I wrote it walking down the street, possibly saying it aloud, passerbys crossing the street, avoiding that "sir" talking to himself...at a crossroads too because I'm being referred to as "sir" more often these days..."Sir" and "Mr. Kennedy" -- so, so weird...and for that lyric:
...It's time to step out of ones skin / and when the times right / step back in / and one can feel comfortable again...
...I think that's how it went, I'm sure I scribbled it down on some scrap paper I'll find at a later date...it's too damn late, or early, to go savaging for it, Bob and Bro are sleeping - Sssh!...and, fuck them!...for being able to sleep...Maybe this is referring to this writing, and again, people's perception of me...the whole writing thing...if I'm not comfortable with it, or doing it, or being known for it, then how are other people going to be...and so, it's back to leaps of faith...I post something on Daily Nuggets that I've written that I don't necessarily think fits my persona, or what people perceive me to be, stepping out of my skin...post...and like most of the time, no reaction, or at least nothing drastic happens, or changes...life goes on like nothing happened, and you're who you have always been...and you thought your writing was going to change the world, "Well excuse me while I laugh" (Talib Kweli song)...and maybe Ben Harper's right, saying, "Folks don't change, they just reveal"...maybe...
...The whole idea of a crossroads could also be more immediate, or in front of me, on this page. The crossroads, in a sense, was yesterday, the 30th day of these "Morning Pages", and I do feel like the writing is taking a turn. It's got my comedic observations, but there's a substance, I agree, to it that I hadn't reached before, I have?...Yeah, well, I believe I have with many of those lyrics, seriously, who wrote those?...Who conducted that pen? But, I haven't written this way with substance longhand before...this crossroads thing is going to come up again...I listen to the blues, and love the blues, don't we all momma!...but man am I sick of living it!...too much for it to not come up...speaking of the blues...We're Not John and Yoko went to a blues/jazz club the other night, I think last Sunday, The 55 Bar, Manhattan...cool place, very old tavern feel, you walk down stairs, it's underground, which I love, it feels like an escape, often like listening to music is, a distraction, remember?...I could see myself, or another lad, losing track of time, walking out to day light with a headache that could last the rest of the day...Instead though, we only had a few drinks and saw a quartet consisting of a saxophonist drummer, head guitarist and stand up bass, I think...The only negative of the venue was I couldn't see all the players and instruments from my point of view...it was crowded and cramped...and I had to look left the whole time...reread this whole post, repositioning yourself with the computer on your left side so you have to read the whole thing straining your neck to the left...after this night out you could catch me at home looking right for an hour straight to counter and even it out...the music was - eh...not my type...I have a policy to only like good music...bringing it all back home, the crossroads...this group took a break and the bar put on Robert Johnson, a poster of him hung to my left, and that famed Harlem poster of all the jazz/blues greats hung to my right (look up name at later date)...Not Yoko, not crazy about the live band, said, "Oh, I like this much better...who's this?"..."It's Robert Johnson," I told her, impressed by myself...and it makes me think -- You put blues music on, it sounds so old, it's like reassurance that we will live on...maybe that's what I'm doing with this writing, it's reassurance I will live on...and these sentences and letters are my footprints...and me getting back to controlling this pen, this life...leaving you with:
...We have all traveled along ways away to get here
...And now that we are here
...It's not the way we thought it would be
...I guess we haven't arrived yet
...Or that - this - is just - the way it is...
Margin jot: Can't sleep again cause I find myself writing when waking up / like doing stand up in sleep after night of seeing comedy...am I the only one laughing at this hour?
...Another failed attempt, yes, but will not miss this opportunity to steal time and write. Apparently I'm learning, "finally," my momma screamed, hearing it all the way from Connecticut, rattling Brooklyn awake. Even most New Yorkers have checked out today and have been sleeping for hours, since yesterday actually...not this guy though. And, yes, apparently I'm learning that you can't beat time, but you can steal time -- thief!...God, or whoever is conducting this life, can steal my sleep, so I'll steal something back, and time I have chosen - and chosen to write during this stolen time. It's odd though. I've never stolen before...I thought I'd be racing and nervous about getting caught. But, I guess even criminals are asleep this hour, NYPD too, a code, an agreement, we won't steal when people are supposed to be sleeping. Well, nobody's going to read this anyways, until I'm dead, so they'll have to arrest me from my grave for this crime. Yeah, I can't be the one conducting this pen, can I?...And, it feels, oh too often, that I'm not the one conducting this life...although...
...I feel like I'm finally returning, finally coming back to who I was, feeling more in control of the path I choose. Before, when the sleeping was at its worst, I didn't feel in control at all. I joke, sort of, like who's conducting this pen, etc., but before, it felt like someone else was making my decisions. It felt like I was out of my body walking along side myself observing somebody else as Garrett Kennedy, and fucking up my shit, I might add...and just did...That feeling is ending...but it feels fragile though...like I could jump off my wagon and return to those worst stages. I mean, I am up at 6:08 AM, and had written earlier, tried to go back to sleep, but failed again...Actually, I'm pretty good at the trying part of falling asleep. I've been trying, working my ass off, trying to fall asleep since college. "Since college"...saying that is enough insanity for anyone to say...and then add that "trying to fall asleep" is your full-time job, and that you're considering declaring it your career, well let the insanity pile...The trying I've got down, it's the succeeding that voids me...But, I do feel like I'm coming back -- hence the following:
...I'm slowly returnin'...
...The tortoise's patience is burnin'...
...and...
...I can see life creepin' back into my face...
...And one day you'll see it bleed through this pen...
...And so,
...What shall we do between now and then?...
...Yes, I can feel myself returning, and shaping into who I want to become...I can see it in recent pictures, check Facebook, shameless plug, I just landed an endorsement deal, not bragging, just updating you on my personal current events, check my status...or don't...But, I still feel like I'm heading down a road, and I'm not the one driving, no music is on, like in a movie, complete silence, window shield view, just driving, and seeing the snow in slow motion flash by...I don't feel there's a chance to crash, or that my life's in danger, or immediate danger, maybe that's down this road, I don't know, like I've said before, who knows?...For now though, I don't feel that danger, but definitely feel intoxicated in some fashion, still out of my body, it's a good thing I'm not the one doing the driving, remember...I truly feel out of my body, remember me, or someone? walking down the street reminding themselves, "I'm here" ?...And, presently I am here. This writing is that proof...but, I'm awake again to see another night turn into day...which sounds beautiful and inspiring in some context, but this isn't that corny movie with a corny message at the end, telling you, at least you've lived to see another day...no, it's not that movie, I haven't written that one yet...but I'm sure a million others have...it's not that movie, it's my life...and I'll cry if I want to...
...I feel like I'm at a crossroads to my life...not the crossroads where blues singers sell their soul...I'm not a blues singer...yet...I don't have a suitcase...anymore...my cat, Bob Dylan, pissed on it, and I through it away...check this...
...I'm at the station...
...Without a suitcase in my hand...
...So I guess I'll never be a blues man...
...Oh well, what the hell, a man to do now?...
...Take a train, get off...
...And down the tracks, get back on again...man...
...I wrote that, or my ghostwriter did, whoever, or whom? ever that is, on 2/26/10, p. 35, Moleskine...
I blacked out for a few seconds, or years, who wrote that?...Yes, I am at a crossroads in my life...I feel like I've gotten to the point where I'm going to, or not going to, pursue writing...this is presently my attempt, it isn't?...oh yeah, it's not me writing...Again, I'm trying...we'll see...we'll see...I have to see, I truly don't want them to have to arrest me in my grave, and not be able to witness people's reaction to this...I guess there could be many reasons, at this crossroads, I chosen to pursue, if that's what I'm doing...I wrote in Moleskine on 9/4/10:...because I wanted, wished, and stared at too many walls not to pursue...
...That could be a reason...another could be my girlfriend forcing my hand...it wouldn't be the first time!...Again, it's hard to comprehend, my life has changed so much this past year, and for the better, and mostly because of her...but like I said, I'm still returning, maybe hungover from sleep deprivation, and of course it's 6:42 AM, and I haven't slept yet, so sprinkle some extra 'tion on there why don't you...Maybe it's like the lyric I wrote...I don't remember the exact phrasing, I wrote it walking down the street, possibly saying it aloud, passerbys crossing the street, avoiding that "sir" talking to himself...at a crossroads too because I'm being referred to as "sir" more often these days..."Sir" and "Mr. Kennedy" -- so, so weird...and for that lyric:
...It's time to step out of ones skin / and when the times right / step back in / and one can feel comfortable again...
...I think that's how it went, I'm sure I scribbled it down on some scrap paper I'll find at a later date...it's too damn late, or early, to go savaging for it, Bob and Bro are sleeping - Sssh!...and, fuck them!...for being able to sleep...Maybe this is referring to this writing, and again, people's perception of me...the whole writing thing...if I'm not comfortable with it, or doing it, or being known for it, then how are other people going to be...and so, it's back to leaps of faith...I post something on Daily Nuggets that I've written that I don't necessarily think fits my persona, or what people perceive me to be, stepping out of my skin...post...and like most of the time, no reaction, or at least nothing drastic happens, or changes...life goes on like nothing happened, and you're who you have always been...and you thought your writing was going to change the world, "Well excuse me while I laugh" (Talib Kweli song)...and maybe Ben Harper's right, saying, "Folks don't change, they just reveal"...maybe...
...The whole idea of a crossroads could also be more immediate, or in front of me, on this page. The crossroads, in a sense, was yesterday, the 30th day of these "Morning Pages", and I do feel like the writing is taking a turn. It's got my comedic observations, but there's a substance, I agree, to it that I hadn't reached before, I have?...Yeah, well, I believe I have with many of those lyrics, seriously, who wrote those?...Who conducted that pen? But, I haven't written this way with substance longhand before...this crossroads thing is going to come up again...I listen to the blues, and love the blues, don't we all momma!...but man am I sick of living it!...too much for it to not come up...speaking of the blues...We're Not John and Yoko went to a blues/jazz club the other night, I think last Sunday, The 55 Bar, Manhattan...cool place, very old tavern feel, you walk down stairs, it's underground, which I love, it feels like an escape, often like listening to music is, a distraction, remember?...I could see myself, or another lad, losing track of time, walking out to day light with a headache that could last the rest of the day...Instead though, we only had a few drinks and saw a quartet consisting of a saxophonist drummer, head guitarist and stand up bass, I think...The only negative of the venue was I couldn't see all the players and instruments from my point of view...it was crowded and cramped...and I had to look left the whole time...reread this whole post, repositioning yourself with the computer on your left side so you have to read the whole thing straining your neck to the left...after this night out you could catch me at home looking right for an hour straight to counter and even it out...the music was - eh...not my type...I have a policy to only like good music...bringing it all back home, the crossroads...this group took a break and the bar put on Robert Johnson, a poster of him hung to my left, and that famed Harlem poster of all the jazz/blues greats hung to my right (look up name at later date)...Not Yoko, not crazy about the live band, said, "Oh, I like this much better...who's this?"..."It's Robert Johnson," I told her, impressed by myself...and it makes me think -- You put blues music on, it sounds so old, it's like reassurance that we will live on...maybe that's what I'm doing with this writing, it's reassurance I will live on...and these sentences and letters are my footprints...and me getting back to controlling this pen, this life...leaving you with:
...We have all traveled along ways away to get here
...And now that we are here
...It's not the way we thought it would be
...I guess we haven't arrived yet
...Or that - this - is just - the way it is...
Margin jot: Can't sleep again cause I find myself writing when waking up / like doing stand up in sleep after night of seeing comedy...am I the only one laughing at this hour?
1 comment:
Actually, it's "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to" (Leslie Gore circa 1963)....jes sayin'
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