..."need a dump truck, baby, to unload my head"...

...And I hope we meet, the day before tomorrow...

...Background music for your sorrows...

...Coasters for your coffee or maybe alcoholic beverages...

...Topic of a circled conversation...

...Ain't nobody really saying anything...

...Distraction for what you don't want to be facing...

...Adding to the adage, a pillage of racing thoughts unneeded

and can't keep up this mileage...

...Yet slows your roll

and can redefine what you thought to be your role...

...Providing a new beat to your stroll

as you walk down the street in brand news

but feel you have a hole in your soul, sole...

...Am I talking about his physical album, his music

or just the thought of?...

...And I hope we meet,
the day before tomorrow... ...

...another, work in progress...just like you...and your momma...

...Vist to Doc...I'm fine...just in search of new material...

An old woman in a Brooklyn Heights doctor's office talked to the receptionist so loudly that everyone now knows her biography...I never wanted to know all this info...including how she wishes that Indian woman were here...and that she is mighty healthy and is going to show the doctor what she can do...oh, and it's colder in New York today than it is in Alaska today...

...This woman should be placed...placed because she can barely walk...in every waiting room across this nation...Try her Elvis banana shake she talked about...I'm inclined to ask her to be my writing partner...she's got endless material....and she doesn't even know it's comedy...She's rooting for the Raiders to make the playoffs, she announced...and she wants to wake up at 3 AM to watch Dark Side of the Moon...more to come soon...

..."need a dump truck, baby, to unload my head"...

...on 12/20/10, unloaded this...

...Ideas we admire...
...Thinkin' they inspire...
...As we sit there staring holes in walls...
...Thinkin' we stand tall
and one day we'll be the ones to do the inspiring...
...On occasion thinkin' our brains need rewiring...
...But still continue mouthin' the words...
...The next minute's existence forgotten...
...Pretending to be the one singing...
...Starin'...
...And losing yourself...
...Forgetting about the inspiring...
...But do so, unintentionally...
...Like the singer did so...
...That you pretended to be...
...In the first place...
...Now place your delusion upon this recorder...

...And this...

...They're playing while you're working...
...They think you've been playing while they've been working...
...And this may lead to a relation not working...
...Your explanation at present isn't working...
...Maybe take some time off from it...
...Take a breath, a break, a hit, a shot...
...Whatever that enables you to unlock a "proper" explanation...
...Nobody is truly looking for inspiration...
...Just an explanation for the reason you are the way you are...
...And so far, you haven't presented it properly
or well enough in your presentation...
...Why keep people waiting?...
...Stop playing...
...While everyone is working...
...Oh it's oh so beautiful when this playing starts working...
...And that's the explanation I'm giving...

...a work in progress...just like you are...

...Scraps-n-Drafts...

- Phone rings...my brother answers, and casually says, "Who the fuck is this?"...and then breaks into Biggie Smalls' song..."paging me at 5:46 in the morning, crack of dawnin, now I'm yawnin, wipe the cold out my eye"...

- Say goodbye to people at a party...and tell them, "Don't move your pivot foot"...walk away...

- "Are you more like your mom or dad?"..."I'm more like my cat"...

- Show about pitching shows...example, pitching show about our cat Bob...today's episode he sits in our apartment's new box...he doesn't?...just did and it just got a thousand hits on Youtube, dude...

- Every kid left back wasn't stupid (except yours)...every kid moved forward, or put in the "gifted and talented program", was not a genius (except mine)...Continue this and relate to art, etc....Most just middle of the road motherfuckers, just trying to earn a buck, looking for some luck...

- My walk / Tiger Woods' swing comparison...how people wonder why I'd change it when it's already perfected...so they think (thank)...

- I am a writer...if there ever was one...recite that line like it's already been sung...a familiar territory...like the words have already come out your lung...

- Excuse me, sir, you're fly is down...No it's not...Now it is...

..."need a dump truck, baby, to unload my head"...

There are just certain people in this world that see the world differently...and they have a vision that is rare...I want to make sure with my writing that people realize...I am Not one of those people...

Here's another attempt at making people realize this:

...I'm a ghost of my former self...
...I hear people say my full name
and don't respond right away...
...Or maybe, it's like my ambitions...
...My response is on delay...
...But it will come to fruition someday...
...They won't?...
...Well, maybe that line wasn't written this time
for the purpose of gaining a quote...
...I'm not really sure about any of the answers,
ask my ghost...
...As others put down their drinks,
I'm just discovering thee toast...
...I don't need the other's commentary...
...I've provided it myself...
...Criticizing, a self kind of roast...
...I am a ghost
of my former self...

...And, my ghost never finished this...don't blame me...he'll get around to it someday...

..."need a dump truck, baby, to unload my head"...

...the day I become free...

...is the day I don't have to comb my hair...

...is that the day I lose it all...
...or the day I just forget to care...

...John Lennon...

...a belated RIP to John Lennon...the Beatle was shot dead in front of The Dakota, his apartment in NYC after coming back from the studio on the evening of Dec. 8, 1980, thirty years ago...I had no idea in high school when we read (or didn't read, will eventually) Catcher in the Rye that Mark David Chapman, the murderer of John Lennon, was reading the book before he shot Lennon...Chapman had seen Lennon outside The Dakota earlier in the day, and Lennon autographed a copy of Double Fantasy for him..."Obviously" I had heard The Beatles' music all my life, from my father's home speakers, to commercials and movie soundtracks...but I never really sat down and listened until I heard Lennon's solo song Working Class Hero...this connected his music to Dylan's for me...and then I came across more of his solo songs, like God, and Look at Me...click on the songs to listen...Look At Me "inspired" (I guess, and forever will) me to write the following; specifically his lyric, "Who am I supposed to be"...and, read below and then the quotes around "Obviously" will make sense, they won't?:

...And so I ask for...
...For was John Lennon singing the soundtrack to my life
when he'd recite - "Who am I supposed to be?"...
...Now we have this degree...
...We want to be free...
...Some got so high on higher education...
...And now don't know how to just simply be...
...Well, obviously...
...So obvious I had to state it was obvious...
...Why is obvious even a word...
...If it is, then it just is...
...Well, obviously...
...I don't have the answers for me...
...And, Mr. Lennon certainly doesn't have all the answers for me...
...But, one thing I do know is...
...That, I've got this music inside of me...
...That's creatin' a riot within me...
...I've got an insecurity that sets my self-esteem on fire...
...So, I'm gonna continue placing Lennon's words through the wire...
...Like Cobain's -
..."To put out the blowtorch"...

...Homework assignment...sent from Johnnykmusic...

Homework assignment: Write down your all-time favorite songs. NOT those you consider the best, but rather your personal favorites, for whatever reason.

Below is the list I came up with, and then had to narrow it down to 4...click on them to hear:

Like a Rolling Stone - Bob Dylan
Get By - Talib Kweli
Crazy Love - Van Morrison
Road to Rocknroll - Joe Strummer
Trouble Weighs a Ton - Dan Auerbach (of the Black Keys)
Devil's Waitin' - Black Rebel Motorcyle Club
Still Not John, Still Not Yoko - We're Not John and Yoko (girlfriend/me)
The Times They're A-Changin' - Bob Dylan
Cat Power - Live in Bars
Ain't No More Cain - (Traditional) Bob Dylan's live version from The Gaslight Tapes
Sweet Jane - Velvet Underground
Jesus on the Mainline - (Traditional) Mr. Airplane Man's version
Hotel Yorba - White Stripes

(bolded ones were the chosen ones...is that racist in any way?)

...The list could go on forever...because people write their favorite lists, and then I continue creating some of the best music ever...and they have to adjust their lists, they don't?...I'm not?...Ok, well...these were the first 12 songs I immediately thought of...there are 13 listed, but one is not a "real" song...yet...find which one doesn't belong...I narrowed these down to 4...the last song crossed out was Sweet Jane - Velvet Underground...to me that sound is how I hear rocknroll in my head...whatever that means...but you do know what I mean...I chose to go with Get By - Talib Kweli instead...for those that never listened to rap music, well, this is as good as it gets and deserves the respect that all the songs on your list get...todaboconoma for now...good luck with your own lists...and submit it to Johnnykmusic...if anyone ever reads this...I can't believe I left off The White Stripes...and Cat Power's Maybe Not...check out the performance on Letterman...forever second guessing...but there must be a reason I ended up picking 4 of the first 5 I thought of.

..."need a dump truck, baby, to unload my head"...

...unloading my head...and yesterday, unloaded this:

...I really don't know what else to say...

...I've said all that can be said...

...I've written all my ideas down in journals

that nobody will have read...

...The glory will come in the afterlife, they said...

...And people will recognize your work when you're dead...

...That's not what I wanted to write...

...Then again...
...That's not what you wish you had lived...
...And that's not what I wish I had reread...

...But it's the present thought-dreams

going through my head...

...Hitting this page for me to countlessly re-recite...

...It's time to put this one to bed...

...You recite it

as your kid falls asleep...

...Just because dinner finished hours ago

doesn't mean one can't continue to be fed...

...Feed me your compliments, under the gas

when I'm on my death bed...

...And that'll be the day

my mind 's no longer on the run...

...Unloading that dumptruck

filled with forgotten dreams...
...Leaving today's frost for today's cold ground...
...Burning under another day's sun...
...And that'll be the hymn I hum
as I walk yet run...
...Racing to my old, erasing my young...

(yup, I agree, I should be teaching children)

...The Right to Write - Exercise

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

Wed. Sept. 15, 2010 - Morning Pages - Day #36 - Caffe Cafe, coffee & tea bar, Bay Ridge Brooklyn...

I'm enjoying a coffee with "cream and sugar", my nickname around this block - "Hey, yo, cream and sugar!...what up?"...It's one of those nicknames you like, but pretend to not hear when it's called out...I'm sitting outside Caffe Cafe in Bay Ridge Brooklyn with this coffee around the block from my apartment...I say I'm enjoying it - because that's what I'm doing...but, to get into specifics, I'm enjoying today's coffee, especially, because I went with the cream, not just the usual milk, pronounced "Melk"...it reminds me of a wonder time in my life when I'd wake up, roll over, smiling like those people in those mattress commercials, and fall back asleep - you know that feeling...

(pause above thoughts, for)...Somebody just got hit by a car...Wow!...That'll wake you up, forget coffee...I hear commotion and realize someone just got hit by a car, every morning...The waitress and I showed our concern...I'll admit I snuck in a couple lines of writing, you already read them...but, the woman seems ok, cops by her side, and had gotten up by her own power...

...Back to that feeling, you know the feeling of waking up and rolling over, going back to sleep...for some reason the sound of the word "cream" reminds me of that feeling, it's something and I want it back! -- For now I'll settle for that nickname though, "Yo, Cream-n-Sugar, what up!?"...

...What's up is I'm stilling enjoying this coffee outside Caffe Cafe...falls here, and it's getting colder, the breeze sneaking up my Addidas warm-ups, hitting me in the balls, refreshing -- the coldness down there, and the warmth felt by the coffee running down my throat, emptying into my stomach is a great concoction for solace...don't say "it" Michale Scott!...ok, say it...

(pause above thoughts, for)...A guy I know in Bay Ridge?...Yes, a guy I know passes the coffee place, sees me, and starts complaining...complaining that there is no parking, and the reason for it was this woman getting hit by a car...and now he is late for work...because this woman got hit by a car...his work, which is a hair salon...a place where I get my hair cut...but when I get mine done, or did, it's a barber shoppe...but this guy is a prick, complaining about being late after someone got hit by a car...so for now on he must say "hair salon" when people ask him where he works...

...Somethings slap you in the face, and hopefully wake you up to realize how precise life is...That woman that got hit by the car will eventually get the message...a message to my generation that it doesn't always come in the form of a "text"...sometimes you get hit by an automobile to get the message...My mom tried this when I was young...I'm still young, and she still tries to hit me with her Rockin'-Rita-Mobile...I dodge her attempts to wake me up every time...She should attempt to hit that guy that was complaining...probably too easy though because he's fat, and works at a hair salon...I don't want to stereotype guys that work at hair salons - meaning, that's not what I'd ideally like to be doing with my life this instance, but feel it is a must...I'm just guessing though...guys that work at hair salons have a way below average first-step...believe me, I've hit on them, whatever that means...maybe it's time for me to wake up...

...The whole idea of waking up, in it's literally or physical sense, and metaphoric sense, hits an insomniac in a different way...I'd say it's unique, but the "different" in this sense is not unique in any way - similar to your kid that you think is so "special"...I wrote in a previous "Morning Pages" that I'm still traveling back...that was referring to me still overcoming, and still comprehending, this whole sleeping problem -- I'm still waking up from it...I write this after another sub-par sleeping performance last night, fell asleep about 12, woke up 4:30ish, rolled around, involuntary moment after involuntary moment...fucking shit, stop moving...and then I decided to get up...my girlfriend's alarm was going to go off anyways at 5:30...my hand hurts...and brain hurts...and I'm reminded of hearing kids, like 5 to 12 year olds, complaining how tired they are...of course, as an insomniac, I roll my eyes, thinking, "You have no idea"...You know, many times on weekends, when you stay up late on purpose, watching TV, then can't fall asleep because you're overtired...and so you continue watching TV...Well, that's how I feel mostly everyday...I can't shut that damn TV off that symbolizes my mind...and at night when I actually turn off the real TV, well, my mind still feels, or looks like that flashing TV screen...you know, when all the lights are off, your eyes also flickering, trying to stay awake, debating should I go to bed or watch more TV?...well, it's already late, or early, and I'm going to be exhausted anyways so I might as well laugh at this damn infomercial that's airing on Comedy Central about a fucking new hip-hop workout routine...in-between hangovers, term papers, and the never ending job search, right?, hip-hop changed from Run-DMC and Public Enemy to putting dumbbells in your hands and kicking your legs above your head...I should have seen that transition coming...like you should see these transitions in my writing...I guess, and forever will, that this is just another opportunity for the white man to make a buck off a black man's art, or bad luck, whatever...a little off topic, yes, well, that's just an insomniac's mind wandering-n-racing to nowhere except the bottom of this page, others hearing it as complaining?...and so...

...And so, I hear these kids complaining how tired they are...and then people older than me, many with kids, parents up all night with their newborns, hear me complaining about how tired I am...and they instantly think, "You have no idea"...My thumb kills, how am I ever going to hitchhike across this land to reach the crossroads?...I guess we are all tired, or all have something to complain about...or write about...I guess I write about this, rant in ways, because I want to be done complaining about everything...In ways it may seem I'm complaining about my sleep problem, you ever think I'm actually crying out for help?...No, well, I'm not at that point, anymore...already washed those tears away...I have found a new way to deal, something unique to put my energy into - and that's writing...what I write may not be unique, but the idea of writing to deal with the complaints about the world that surrounds us is, in a way...especially by those that never thought of doing this themselves...

...Again, I may have forgotten to develop a point here...was busy ranting again, and I sense there was some raving too...maybe I am coming back, waking up...I guess I'll conclude today's pages with that I'm done complaining, and that relates to previous pages where I said it's time to stop wishing, and start doing the work, referring to my whole visions of writing, and a life of doing so...I've done some of my work today, and hopefully that hair salon loser has started working too...I hope he wasn't too late for work, how dare that lady get hit by a car and disrupt his path, his plans for today...anyways...

Jotted in margin on last page: complaining - adults never sleep, maybe insomnia is just an adult state of mind - then you hear kids, 5 year olds, etc., saying they're tired, I think, you have no idea, then new parents hear me complaining, they think I have no idea -- Well, I guess, "only if" we were all bowlers, and knew what it was like to be in other people's shoes -- I tried on the five year old's, sweet new and fresh Jordans, but didn't fit...

...And, I think we all agree, we all need to be hit by a car at least once in a lifetime...this was just that woman's time -- which is hilarious because she's ok - "Life is a great adventure, " said Jerry Seinfeld...reading this off an article latched to the fridge...an article I saved that my momma mailed to me from Connecticut a couple years ago...and ma, life is good, again...I think I'm coming back, and definitely want to...I'm done complaining...I'm doing my work, and another step in my right direction taken...Watch Out!...tomorrow might be your day...to be hit by a car...maybe a metaphoric one...todaboconoma, most definitely.

...The Right to Write - Exercise

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

Tues. Sept. 14, 2010 - Morning Pages - Day #35 - I'll see, I'll see...

A late start today, and yesterday I was playing tag with elementary school children at 28 years old, a late start on life...I guess...And, well, to raise my self-esteem, I'm going to prescribe to the idea that "age" is just a number...which is true..it's just a number that tells us how old we are, that's it...so what if I still play tag...Well, I guess I've realized I went pro and didn't even know it...I knew I was good as a kid, but never imagined being good enough to be a professional...This is similar to my friend Nate, we've talked about him (behind his back) before...he was good as a youngster at making sandwiches, but nobody ever imagined he'd be working for Subway...he's that good now, apparently...And, now I'm playing tag, at 28, professionally, right?...I got paid yesterday, playing tag for like 2 hours, my calves (of steel, below my abs of steel) are a-achin', some mo' blues, ain't any news, y'all...onward, and, well, sideways, as I continue to write, left to right...And, I guess, again, if we want to get back to that honesty idea from yesterday's pages, then the reason I'm not where I want to be in life right now, at 28, or whatever age I'm acting, well, it's because I didn't imagine...

...I recall a blog post from about a year ago...It was about me at the library reading Idiots Guide to Soccer, getting ready for the upcoming season to a sport I hadn't play since 12 years old...I will look up the exact line at a later date, but it relates much to this...I ended that post with something to the affect of: If I don't start taking this blog thing, the whole writing thing, more seriously then come next year, and years down a road, I will find myself on a field I never planned to be upon, again...I had never planned to coach soccer last year, and, well, sometimes that's just life, we end up doing things we didn't think we would...This on the other hand, I think was more of me simply not planning anything else - life has a tendency to plan for you if you don't do the planning, I guess, I'm learning, "finally", said momma...And, well, this relates to me and the whole imagining idea...I wrote in the margin on the last page: I see my ability to write in more places increasing...I'm not sure if it's an ability, or me just doing it in more places, but I am thinking less, not waiting for the right or perfect time to write...I guess I'm learning, again!, that there will be no perfect time...The day I'm not being too lazy to write, I won't feel well, or I'll do it later in the day, or maybe I have gas, and I'm waiting for it to pass...and some said lyricism wouldn't last?...

...I'm inclined to start writing about how I never imagined I'd be an insomniac...about, how, it's odd, but I knew insomnia existed, but when you don't have something, or know someone that does, then you just don't think of it...all I knew was that Dave Attel had a show Insomniac, and Green Day has an album Insomniac...that's it...That's a topic for discussion, in my own mind, and for writing, at a later date...but right now I'm thinking along the lines of careers, and imagining myself one day having one...I must be starting to write fiction...This goes along the lines of Field of Dreams - "If you build it, they will come"...I'm imagining now, my career as a writer...if I write it, they will come...and I don't want baseball players to come out of my backyard cornfield...If I write it, Idea Awards will come...they have already, and "as long as" I keep writing they will continue to come...Before that comes, that I will still imagine, but for it to be more realistic I think I need to imagine more in the short term too...Where do I imagine myself next fall, again, finding myself on a field I never planned to be upon?...Or, am I going to makes moves, behind the back and spin moves, to get a writing job?...I'll see, I'll see...

...I've imagined making a business card with Daily Nuggets on it with my contact information, and dropping them in bars and cafes, subways, across the city...Ok, well, I will do that when I finish the 90 days of "Morning Pages"...I'll see what I've got, and adapt from there (a good lyric, possibly, at a later date, again)...It's like I'm not even here...but this writing is proof I was, or am, as I reread these sentences before posting so you can read...I also imagine finishing these pages, not missing a day of writing, and at first I will hold all the written pages in my hand in astonishment...I've written before, and should give myself more credit for how much I have written, but I haven't done it like this before, 3 pages, or more, every day for 90 days straight...that's going to be a sight to see in my hands...

...I also imagine more late night jam sessions with my girlfriend - because maybe my plans aren't as visible as Not Yoko would like them to be; however, they are still developing inside this insomniac's mind, and I see them more clearly the more I write...I wrote before, something to the affect of: Trying to organize ideas inside an insomniac's mind is harder than organizing ideas of war...My ideas, and plans, are being organized though, and it should be reassurance to know that I've also imagined a world with no more wars, isn't that reassuring, Not Yoko?...I think these pages have been a step in the right direction toward imagining, and planning, and yesterday's theme is there about being more honest in my writing...I think the next step is continuing to imagine, but also getting more straight to the point and just writing it out...my plans with writing and everything...This can hold me accountable...I once told friends I was going to do stand-up, and in the end it was either insomnia that slept walked me to that club, or it was me just living up to my word...It's time I do more of this...I can't wait to see that stack of writing in my hands..."Here's my business card".

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

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

Mon. Sept. 13, 2010 - Morning Pages - Day #34 - Train ride, on the R, to job...stealing time...

What to do with this life...I guess, God gave me...my mom might beg to differ on that...actually she did...for a year of her life...she was on the streets, with her cup, begging, just to differ...weird, huh?...but, that's my momma, and I'm sticking to it, or her...because I know, not much, but know, she'll always stick to me, metaphorically again, right?......Why capitalize God and not mom???...Ponder that at a later date...but for now...Let's run with the idea that god gave me this life...and then he took it away...away for 4 plus years by giving me a sleeping disorder...the whys could be built up to provide all the inner city kids with Y's to play in -- explain to me again why Lebron James was in a Greenwich, CT boys club...whatever for now, yeah, until tomorrow...

...So much of life is what we choose to do with it...but then other parts are out of our hands...maybe writing is physically keeping it within my hands...and so, of course, I've asked why I have a sleeping problem...the questions aren't directed to god, or anyone in particular, and they are also asked without the, "Why me?"...I've never actually asked that -- that would be a slap in the face to all of what I should be grateful for in my life - that maybe god's given me, I know my mother's given me, and like Chris Rock said, "Nobody thanks the dads"...but I'll counter that by letting my dad have "the big piece of chicken" at dinner...paraphrasing Mr. Rock there...it's ok...we are both New Yorkers now, we aren't?...but, I also can thank myself for much of the great I have in life...and for those not thanked, well, you either didn't deserve it, or I'm waiting to give you thanks during my next "Idea Awards" speech, and I'll be sure to thank the fans too -- because like most, they are the reason we do this, whatever this really is?...

...I write and reluctantly ask the question, "Why do I have a sleeping problem?"...If this writing is going to mean anything then I have to be more honest...that letter I wrote "you" that night is the realest thing I've ever written, I channeled most definitely, and I have to do that more often...telling myself this, not you...which gets confusing because I said in a previous "Morning Pages" that pretty much every time I write "you" I'm really talking to myself...and that would mean, in this case, that I just really wrote: telling myself this, not me, or, not I?...and that would mean I wrote that letter to myself...maybe I did...This more than likely doesn't make much sense to "you", but at least it does to me...maybe it means that I'm telling myself to do something, like writing, but don't believe I'll actually follow through...In the end, being more truthful, in my writing, and in life in general could be challenging to me to do so, to follow through, it's not?...Well, we'll see, we'll see...Or, I guess it doesn't matter if you see, you've got your own plans and problems racing through your mind...I should say, I'll see, I'll see...and so...I asked myself first in this writing - What to do with this life?...Well, I'd like to write, and realized through writing today's pages, I have to be more honest in this writing, all of it, in order to get anything...

...I had to pause the above writing to get off my stop, hence the incomplete thought, another one!...My stop, Court Street in Brooklyn Heights...I'm on my way to work...walking slower, trying to listen to my own advice, and I'm early so now walking to find another place to sit and write...On my way to finding, I pass another man my age...I'm listening to Dylan in my headphones, again, so I don't have to hear everyone else's bullshit tone...That man my age passed me, wearing Dylan on his t-shirt, it said "vintage" in the corner of the pictured Bob...and I think this is more evidence that music is evidence of our existence, and proof we will live on...I'm trying to get to that in my writing...that is a step toward being more honest, I think - it's what I want out of my writing...I'm inclined to say whatever for now, until tomorrow, a phrase I'm getting attached to...it's not a whatever attitude like teenage negligence, apathy, but more so, it's accepting what's written, or what I've already lived, and moving on...I have to keeping being honest, and get more honest, to completely move on - And bringing it all back home - to insomnia...honesty can lead to me completely getting over this sleeping disorder...I think...

...I caught the person next to me on the bench trying to sneak a peek of what's written, I close the Moleskine, a step backwards, possibly, but I write on, after realizing this...maybe I should be more like my Mom...during her begging days, begging to differ...I should beg myself to differ with they way I used to be, so passive, and scared to do what I wanted to do...maybe that's what this writing is...me begging myself to do what I want to with my life - What to do with this life?...If any part of me thinks god, or anyone else, took years away from my life because of insomnia, then writing can be taking it, my life, back...another step forward could be stating what I think is possible as fact...I write that sentence with a "could be" which is the same as "maybe"...and that's fact...I'll be more honest tomorrow...I'll see, I'll see...but end with this dismount -- I know everyone my age asks these questions, and if there is an ounce of good in them, then they are doing whatever they know how to answer them.

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

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

Sun. Sept. 12, 2010 - Morning Pages - Day #33 - Metro North train, New Haven to Grand Central...

You rush in life, and you shower, get out of the shower, dry off and feel that your legs are itchy...You go to the doctor because you think your animal, I don't know if you have a doggy, kitty, ferret, or dinosaur, etc....but you think your animal gave you fleas...The DOC informs you it's just leftover soap - "You're rushing your showers again, Garrett, " he says..."All we've got for you is this weighted ball...it slows you down...if you go more than the prescribed speed, determined by your weight, quickness, first-step-ness...you go over your speed and it falls off your belt...it will be latched next to the block counter we prescribed for another problem of yours that nobody wants to talk about...go over your speed, the weighted ball falls, it could hit your foot and hurts similar to the hurt of an Idea-Award landing on your foot...you know what I'm talking about...you dropped it on stage that time, remember?...And, oh yeah...it's also strapped to your balls......slow down"...

...You rush in life and you'll also find yourself thinking you're all settled in for some nice train writing...You printed a previous Morning Pages out to do some editing...you got your coffee...it was too hot to drink so you waited and now it's at the desired temperature...you think you're all prepared for this train ride back to NYC from CT, you were home visiting your other cat, Cosmo...and, oh yeah, your parents...You are all set...except...you didn't check your bag to make sure you had a proper pen, always essential...the pen that's in the bag, and that you're writing with now, is broken, and you can only use the little skinny plastic part...it barely fits in your hands ("That's what she said"...forever quoting Mr. Michael Scott)...Something tells you you'll overcome this obstacle though...you've overcome much worse in your Hall of Fame career...But...the message should still be sent that you should slow down...hasn't that meditation book that you sprinted to the library to check out taught you this???...Sometimes it just takes walking down the street slower...You, with your broken pen, are essentially a blues singer with a broken guitar...but still no suitcase...ramblin' 'round, ridin' the tracks, writin', and getting things off your chest..."It ain't a good life, but it's [yours]" (Strange Boys)...

...We will dissect all the bad things that rushing in life can bring you -- but, hey, you're a positive man...so let's focus on the positive for now...You rushed packing for this trip back...in the shower...so you had to go to the DOC...that somehow was open on Sunday?...But, this made you late for the train, forcing you to rush more, and now your ass is sweaty, again...You got to the train on time, but there wasn't enough time to purchase a ticket beforehand, you'll get one on the train...You get situated...but since you were late you couldn't find your ritual seat across from the bathroom...you love the aroma...or have a bladder problem, who knows?...that DOC certainly doesn't...You also love helping people open that extremely heavy door that leads to the next train car...You see this person approaching and they don't have any chance of opening it, and say, "Excuse me, ma'am...need help opening the door?"...Except...it's not a ma'am, but a man...and now everybody's embarrassed...You'll more than likely overcome this though too...and you do...You're situated by now, put the coffee down, clenching it between your feet...and now you unpack your backpack to prepare to write...and this is when you realize the pen situation...you're bummed...Can you overcome again?...

...You see the clicker guy approaching...and think for a second, "Maybe I should become a clicker guy???"...But...maybe you shouldn't......You reach for your wallet, look inside...the forgotten train ticket stares back...and now you remember that on your way to CT the clicker guy never punched your ticket...Actually he did punch it a number of times...literally...with his fist...and it never made that hole to symbolize a used ticket...shucks...The quick debate begins - Should you pay for another ticket?...Or grow balls and try to use the unpunched one in your wallet?...You feel your balls growing, giving you a glimpse of what it feels like to have some...You pull out...the ticket from your wallet...Clicker Guy punches it, this time successfully...and This Time, rushing resulted in a free train ride back to NYC...

...God gives you lemons, you make the neighborhood kids sell lemonade and take the money....The DOC gives you a chained ball strapped to your balls, you create a free train ticket???...Your balls have grown, yes...but it still symbolizes you going too fast...because now the ball drops, ranking your "chicken nuggets"...and a new lesson is learned, I think by all of us -- Slow down in life!...

...The positive...maybe another one...is that you just recited this whole Morning Pages aloud in 3rd person and all the passengers have left your section...you've got your own section...and as the other passengers rushed to avoid the lunatic talking aloud, you heard a thud...another Mo Fo's weighted ball dropped...Oh, the stories created without a train ride...but inside the mind of an insomniac...Again, whatever...until tomorrow...

...And since all left your section, they won't see you toss that broken pen on the ground...don't forget that I'm still reciting this aloud...Would a blues singer toss their broken guitar to the train floor?...Well, you can answer that from your own experiences, own ramblin' ways...You keep your broken guitar, better known as, The No-String Walmart Acoustic, in your apartment closet...No, a blues singer wouldn't litter the train...he'd keep the broken guitar, for it could possibly become an artifact for the RocknRoll Hall of Fame someday...I think I'll keep the pen...If you go into The Writer's Hall of Fame you will see many-a broken bottles...and broken pens that writers have used...abused.

(consider adding lyrics from Ray Lamontagne's "Old Before Your Time"...great song)...

...Bob Dylan Concert...

...Whenever writing about Bob Dylan, writers try to use one of his lyrics to somehow connect their cleverness to Dylan's...I've even mocked myself, saying, "You mention his name so much that people will be forced to make comparisons"...they won't?...I won't use a lyric here, but a reference to the the Dylan biopic I'm Not There...My family, girlfriend and I went to see Dylan live at Foxwoods this Saturday, our Thanksgiving guts giving us less agility to groove to the music...I don't know whether it was still leftover sleep deprivation or just hard to comprehend that I was finally seeing him live...in my mind, gazing at the stage, "That's really Bob Dylan up there"...Whatever the reason, I, well, felt, again, like "I'm Not Here" or "Wasn't There"...

...Days later it's still hard to comprehend I saw Dylan live...My girlfriend commented, "If I close my eyes I wouldn't know that was Bob Dylan on stage...but I like his voice that way"...His voice now is essentially shot, sounding like he's smoked a chimney a days worth since the 60s, the era his present work is always compared to and never lives up to...Dylan himself may be the only one that's truly moved on from then and has become a whole new artist...I commented, "I can't believe he's still doing this...he's been touring for over 50 years"...If you kept looking on stage expecting to hear the 60s-Dylan then you haven't put on one of his records beyond that decade...I didn't expect that Dylan, but it took me 4-5 songs to forget and then appreciate what he was doing in the present...After the first two songs, Gonna Change My Way of Thinking, and Lay, Lady, Lay, I didn't know if I'd last the whole concert, that voice!...But, by the end, I was excited and I want to see him again...But then again, it doesn't make a difference what I think or the next blogger thinks, Dylan will continue touring and I wouldn't be surprised he died on stage...realizing this, gazing back at the sea of people, Dylan still selling venues out...People from the audience screamed out song requests, "Hurricane!...Blowing in the Wind!...Like A Rolling Stone!"...

...Dylan did end the encore with Like A Rolling Stone, however, you could barely recognize it, the melody completely different, no organ-drop to act as the needle hitting the record to jump-start the song, and "Once upon a time you dressed so fine" was one of the few coherent and recognizable lyrics...fun to hear, nevertheless...I looked back at the people yelling song requests with an expression like, "What's the point?...Haven't you realized he's going to do whatever he wants to?"...They kept requesting, Dylan kept doing whatever he does, and then the crowd requested a second encore...By then, our crew had vacated the venue...My mom was disturbed by his voice - "I couldn't understand anything he said"...She had actually left early for a Marbolo Light break to no return...I saw her leave and joked, "Is she walking out because he plugged in?"...The rest of us were excited, adding to the soundtrack of commentary like when people leave a movie and it's discussion-time...We shared our opinions and concluded the best song/performance of the night was the last song before the encore, Ballad of A Thin Man...

You walk into a room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
And you say, "Who is that man?"
You try so hard
But you don't understand
Just what you'll say
When you get home
Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mr. Jones?...

...I think back to the 60s...man...and when Dylan first revealed his work...People must have felt like that lyric - "Something is happening here, but you don't know what it is"...My father recalled the first time he heard Subterranean Homesick Blues on the radio...He hadn't heard anything like it before, didn't know if he even liked it, but couldn't look away...It seems that is the common equation with Dylan...Everyone has their opinions on what he's doing, or what he should be doing...but whatever he does, most still can't look away...And, to get myself off the hook of being one of those writers that uses a Dylan lyric to end oh-so cleverly, I will end with one of my own...I saw a Dylan interview from sometime in the 60s, and when asked for an autograph he said, "I'd give it to you, but you don't need it"...And so, I wrote:

Hey, Mr. Dylan...
A...hey, Mr. Dylan...
No...a...I don't need an autograph
But I wouldn't mind sharing a laugh
Imagine that
Making him laugh
I'd put that on my resume
Above my GPA...
And the influence of Dylan becomes osmosis
And from Robert Johnson to John Anthony Gillis
become the bookends of my musical collection
And this
Well this
This is the greatest song ever written
Since Bob Dylan wrote "Like A Rolling Stone"
However, that is the past
Let us move on
It's "Blowing in the Wind"
So I try to breathe peacefully
While some say I speak cynically
I promise I'll live respectively
So clap with me
Because this is music
So write with me
Because this is reality...

(Snippet of something I wrote as a senior in college..."However, that is the past...let us move on"...).