DAILY NUGGETS

..."We're Not John and Yoko"...good decisions and breakfast...

2011-12-18T07:36:00.000-08:00

I'm not bragging, but we've got two cats, Bobby Dylan and Bumble. We live in a junior one bedroom in Brooklyn Heights. We make good decisions most of the time. And, one of those good decisions concerns the placement of the cats' "shit box". We keep it in the living room by the desk in the corner near the closet. We like to give you useless information on occasion - like where we keep a shit box. Nevertheless, I know we all agree that the placement was a good decision. It allows the following: We can do leisurely activities, such as, sit at that desk next to the shit box and write a "Daily Nugget" while inhaling the fumes of a delicious mixture of "Bumble Pie", "Bobby's Potent New Poem" and "Honeydew Melon". It's up to you to decipher which is the burning candle. Also, we like to keep our clothes in our closet, not our sexuality. We may be enjoying our weekend off, with our clothes off. We don't consider anything inappropriate here because we are adults "here", but don't have to pretend to be that over "there" - like "those" "people". So, we let our work clothes have the weekend off too. "They" chill in that closet next to the shit box, absorbing those three candles-a-burning that we discussed earlier...before I passed out while writing this here "nugget" next to the shit box. This allows us to go into the next week of work, us and our clothes rested, and letting everyone at work experience those three candles too, the clothes wearing them. I agree, we are so unselfish. The placement of the shit box is also good because it's not in our bedroom. But, it's close enough to our bedroom so we can wake up early on a weekend morning and ask ourselves, "Is that Bumble cooking bacon and eggs?". And, on that note, we are going to sign off and go enjoy today's breakfast. Enjoy yours.

...my new "Art"...

2011-12-11T17:58:00.000-08:00

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

2011-12-09T23:13:00.000-08:00

--- --- ---

...Pick up the carton of caffeine

Before you've finished the previous sip

With constant movements

It's got you ripped

With stuttered ambitions and words

Each cheek shakes your hips

And you're in constant shift

What was meant to give you temporary lift

Provided you with a lack of grip

You read today's headlines

For today's daily tip

But it does not fit

For that shoe wasn't stitched for your soul

And within it

It leaves an empty pit...

--- --- ---

Nobody know

Nobody care

We all floating along

In our own rocking chair...

And, as they say

We play

And walk the cliche...

Now, we may

Often speak the same words

But have our own tone

While walking in the same direction

We each have uniqueness to which we roam...

And never before

Did I see so clearly

The cliches of life

Staring back at me...

I feel more awake and alive past midnight

Than 'round supper time

I can't taste clearly

But that's how I see

When the sun comes up

And lights us a brand new day

And on we continue walking cliche...

And in the midst of all this there's a song

And in the midst of all that there's a war

All this while they do yoga in the park

Can someone else's words

Can someone else's death

Spark purposeful direction

Or shall we sit and wait for another hopeful election...

I don't know

I don't even know my own name

You're a lost soul

When somebody yells your name

And you yell back

Oh yeah, I once knew him

When on the next break to sin

Think back to then

And ask would he proceed

And do the opposite...

I need that cliche

Just to walk some way

I need that song

Just to carry on

I need that war

To convince myself

I have more than that guy to live for

I need my pet

Maybe more than you

Please don't get upset

For he'll never let me think otherwise...

Take out a pencil

If they still exist

And add question marks

To everything I've ever written

So nobody catches me in the act

Of not knowing...

Show me something, lord

I may start believing in god -

Just for its acoustics...

And, do you think if I told you

That your vision will come to fruition

This road along the way would be less hellish...

And, it's got me thinking

That you're the only one

That's got me considering

Erasing that punctuation...

--- --- ---

...Been straining on this train

Trying to get your attention

We haven't made eye contact

But my permanent state's called confusion

And it's convincing me there's a connection

My stop's at the next station

Doors open

The forever commotion

And in my mind nod to say

Have a nice life

Or at least start with a good day

We had a good ride

I hope the tide pulls us together again

But in reality you're just as good as an Internet friend

Please at least accept that ship

I've certainly sailed this one

And didn't move one foot

My mind's taken me places

I have no proof

'cept these lines

I have and will leave no other traces...

--- --- ---

...Missed High-Five...

2011-10-20T16:53:00.000-07:00

...My whole life feels like a missed high-five...You know that feeling...even if you're very athletic, very coordinated, you can miss that five...and, all of a sudden, you feel like a douche bag...there is no escaping it...So, you look around, hoping nobody saw it...and, just in case there's a chance someone did, you try to blame the other person, but also quickly give the five another try...You know "that" feeling, you do...And, well, that's the way I personally feel all the time...So, in the case when I miss that five, I say, "Oh, I know this feeling...it feels just like I felt just before the five"...The five, whether missed or not, actually provides me a little break from that feeling...Then, again, whether landed or missed, a five doesn't take long, that feeling for me returns...awesome...

...Two Guys in Front a Deli...

2011-09-24T06:34:00.000-07:00

A: See that guy over there?

B: What guy?

A: That guy

B: Oh yeah, you know that guy?

A: No

B: Then what about him?

A: I hate that guy

B: Why do you hate that guy?

(A looks at B like how could you ask such a question)

A: Just look at 'em

B: Oh yeah, I hate that guy too

(pause)

A: See that guy over there?

B: What guy?

A: That guy

B: Oh yeah, you hate that guy too?

A: No, I love that guy

B: Why do you love that guy?

A: It's called feelings...you just get a feeling, you know, a gut feeling...you should know something about that

(A slaps B's gut)

B: Feels like I've had this conversation before...but looking in the mirror - "I love that guy"..."I hate that guy"...

...Millbrook - Pinot Noir 2009...

2011-08-21T16:59:00.000-07:00

Cracking open a bottle of Pinot, after devouring an Arugula frozen pizza, is "what's up" for "We're Not John and Yoko" this Sunday evening. The bottle, a house warming gift, CAN be shorthanded by me as simply "Pinot" - because I saw Sideways - and, "We're not drinking fucking Merlot". I usually quench my thirst with beer, but recently turned twenty nine, and other than having dreams of one day becoming a "strong black woman" (fingers crossed), I aspire to be a whino - exhibited by my posturing of crossed legs, holding my glass higher than anyone's comfort-level, and asking "Not Yoko", "Can I pull this look off?"...Before she could answer, I added, "Maybe if I was wearing a suit" - took a sip in conviction of my self-suggestion. I want to be able to describe what I'm tasting - rookie mistake - You're supposed to smell the aromas first! I jumped into the description, "I sense a hint of raspberry" - and my mind cut short, it's not convinced enough, yet, of its intelligence to come up with useless descriptions - but still wanted to add, "...blended with cherries"...This description is courtesy of EmpireWine.com, a site that popped up after searching "Millbrook Pinot Noir 2009" before the "dinner party" - that I never attended, but would like to pretend I could "dinner party" one day (fingers crossed)...I misquoted the site, and in response to the future email/complaint I'll receive from EmpireWine.com, I do not apologize...in fact, apologizing has become so out of control "these days" (like quotations) that "people" that request apologies should do the apologizing - quietly to themselves for being such douchbags...EmpireWine.com's description - "Fresh aromas of red raspberry, cherry and violet are followed by bright flavors of pomegranate, tart cherry with a racy acidity and a long, fruit-driven finish". My real description - "Did you taste it yet?...It's good...yeah, it's pretty good...it's a lighter red than most red wines, isn't it?...mmmm, it's really good...if you don't have some soon, I'm going to finish the bottle...mind if I finish the bottle?"...Bottle finished.

To-Do list (fo today)

2011-07-31T01:36:00.000-07:00

Below is my To-Do list for today...I'd like to point out that it is now 4:06 AM and I haven't fallen asleep yet...and you can probably tell that I'm ecstatic because look at how much day I have ahead of myself to get all of my To-Do list done...do not copy...or I'm telling...remember the days of "I'm telling"...well, if you don't, and you do copy - I'm telling!...here's the list:

1. Make today's To-Do list

2. Heavily consider erasing To-Do list from blog (so motherfuckers don't copy)

3. Tell Bob Dylan (my house cat) (apartment cat) "good jump Bob"...I truly enjoy telling my cat that his jump from here to there (where he jumped is neither here nor there) was "good"..."Good jump Bob...good jump"...I can't wait to do this later...often he jumps and I compliment him right there and here...and, often, later in the day, I compliment him for his jump from earlier in the day..."That was a good jump Bob...earlier in the day...good jump"

4. Ask Not Yoko (my girlfriend) if "house cat" is one word

5. Check #4 because she said "housecat" is one word (blogger disagrees!)

6. Ask if "apartment cat" should be one word then too

7. Get Not Yoko a tissue

8. Wipe Bumble's, Not Yoko's apartmentcat's, snot off my forehead (mo fo just sneezed on me)

9. Tell Not Yoko, "I am not delirious...it's just funny"...she called me delirious...I can't repeat on here what I called her

10. Point to the sky (for many reason...but mostly for Jesus)

11. Bike on stationary-bike...then tell Bob he can have "next"...or he can have "now"...get off bike if Bob wants "now"

12. Answer fan mail

13. Ask Not Yoko if "fan mail" is one word

14. Check #13...she "thinks so...or it's hyphenated"

15. Get "some" sleep...so you really don't become delirious

16. Finish To-Do list after you get that sleep

I miss Bob...I'm going to go compliment him on his "good jump" from yesterday...it was actually a really good jump...then I'm going to get that sleep...I'll sign back on later to finish this To-Do list...

...Scraps-n-Drafts...

2011-07-10T13:20:00.000-07:00

- Commercial - have female doing yoga on rug...male looking at her like what the hell is she doing...he looks at beer glass and confirms that it's the better form of meditation...

- I told a pizza place what I told my girlfriend...if it doesn't fit...get a bigger box...

- Staring Contest as a sporting event...Bring IT!...

- I think about my life and what I've dedicated it to...the most work I've put into something ever...the most I've cared about something was in elementary school...during recess we had to take one lap around the playground...and, I had to be first...someday I'd like to put that passion into my writing...

- Nose hair joke - I feel different today...don't feel like myself...I feel lighter..."What you do?...I cut some nose hair...

- Subway station..."Which way you going?"..."Ok, I'll go this way then"...

- Good thing I wrote the above joke...that'll be the break through one...fo show...

- Skit (for kids!...yeah!)...skit is Andy Sandberg playing Mark Wahlberg talking to animals, a remake of that SNL skit...have some kids being the animals and other kids auditioning for Mark Wahlberg -- "No! You're just being Mark Walhberg. We want you playing Andy Sandberg playing Mark Wahlberg...Yes, I know. He had it easier...he's already Andy Sandberg"...

- People are getting older faster these days...I'm not sure why...maybe something is in the water...or, the chicken...one of the two...probably...

- On train - look at person across from me...roll eyes...for no reason it seems...but, I've got my reasons...get your own...Jerry Sloan...rhyming off the top of my dome...at a later date, dissect my constant struggle to spell the word "rhyme"...rime...r-hime...rim...no, that's rim, as in "Above the Rim", or slightly below, in my case...

- Add to looking at person on train / taking notes of them idea - - they notice you taking notes...they wonder, "Why would someone take notes of me...I suck"...I know you suck, sir...it says so on this here pad...I mean...you're just sitting there...why don't you get up and do something with your life...

- I have a passion for watching the weather channel...so much so that I haven't gone outside in years to actually see any weather...

- Idea - list great experiences ones had in life...a long list of great vacations and accomplishments...but end list with saying - "You haven't lived until...you have thrown a behind-the-back-boogey-pass"...just ask Steve Nash...Johnny Cash don't know...

- Picture / Thousand words..."Yeah, ok"...Take pictures and assume all of them say exactly 1,000 words...write essay conveying what it says in 1,000 words...

- How many times do I have to say
that I know that you know
in order for both of us to know
that both of us don't know...
...and, on we row...or don't...

- Shut up, Garrett

- Take a picture of me
as I look away
and then look back
with an expression like maybe
you don't know, but I know
what is fact
And, just because
I may lack the skills
to articulate thus
Doesn't mean that
the truth isn't such...

- Conviction Essay - write long essay about conviction...do it tomorrow...or next year...and, give examples of people that have unwavering conviction...relate to how I will never succeed at making people laugh until I apply this conviction to what I think is funny...my conviction can start and be based upon my conviction for how much I love my house cat...and how that conviction can teach us all a lesson...I mean...lessons...

...all I'm asking for...

2011-07-09T17:51:00.000-07:00

...all I'm asking for...a couple times a year...oh Lord...

...Not Yoko, the better smelling half of the indie-rock slash gangsta rap duo We're Not John and Yoko, brought to my attention (me being Not John) what is most important in life - - the small things...we were kickin' it on this lovely Saturday July summer day, after a late night out with friends and other people who think that we are friends...Facebook has blurred friendship so much that even "THAT" guy thinks I am friends with him..."THAT" guy enjoys pulp in his OJ (Simpson) and I cannot trust anyone that enjoys a meal and a beverage simultaneously...eat then drink...or, drink then eat...If you wondered why you blew up the office bathroom so badly the night of the Office Christmas party that the stank still lingers...well, the answer is because you ate and drank at the same time...I think...anyways, you are getting off topic...the small things...and, well, trust...I cannot trust anyone that doesn't enjoy what Not Yoko brought to my attention while we were weighted to the bed this whole day, nursing the mixture of too many beverages, lack of sleep and Chinese take-out...and come to think of it, I have not had this enjoyment in a long time...all I'm asking for is...a couple times a year...for earwax to fall out my ear...I do not know if that has been pronounced as a national past-time, but for centuries motherfuckers have been overcoming the blues by realizing the enjoyment of the "small things"..."If only 'She' could," the small footed man said...small things - like the enjoyment of earwax falling from ones ear unexpectedly...tell me you have never experienced this enjoyment...and I'll tell you I am looking at a lying-man. While Abe Lincoln was contemplating how to save The Union, stress built up and so did wax up on in them ears...he loved this country...he saw that the continuous of slavery could be the downfall of the nation he was elected to run...but he was "honest"...with others, and himself...so honest, he should have been nicknamed "something" to convey this...he was torn...honesty told him he enjoyed his slaves making him Strawberry smoothies, and providing him late-night bedtime stories and rub-n-tugs that only "friends" could provide...so the legend tells...depression hit...he even started drinking OJ...with pulp...he needed an outlet...he should have gone to the Nike outlets...they have great sales on sweet sneakers that 12 year-old "slaves" stitch to perfection...One day Abe awoke, much like We're Not John and Yoko did today...he walked to the kitchen...looked in the fridge and asked his slave to pour a "tall" glass of OJ...sipped it...and...earwax fell upon his shoulder...he took it off his shoulder...examined it, rolling it between his thumb, pointer and middle finger...word is he even tossed it in the air and caught it a couple times...then tossed it in the fridge at the carton of pulped-OJ...smiling...enjoying the little things...

...Abe realized..."He didn't?"...he realized the OJ needed to be freed from this pulp...just like the slaves from their owners...the little things people...all I'm asking for is that earwax falls out my ear a couple times a year...a rhyme that only a non-pulp drinking motherfucker could create...the small things people...the small things...a belief an Irishman has to prescribe to.

...end of class speech...

2011-04-11T09:14:00.000-07:00

...Let's talk about greatness...Everybody dreams about it...from the greatness of athletes and their performances on the biggest of stages...to actors on stages, some less lit off Broadway, but the greatness none less greater than those on the biggest of screens...to doctors performing never before surgeries...and teachers inspiring our world's future athletes, doctors and teachers, and world leaders...Greatness...

...This isn't a Nike commercial...or just a reflection of greatness in ones personal journal...what about greatness that isn't on the biggest screens...greatness that seeks no big stage and stays in the shade...Obviously I'm getting at imagining the day that person was home alone, coffee and other such things a-brewing...the tree did make a sound when nobody was around to hear it -- for shit stinks just as badly when nobody else is around to smell it...what I'm getting at is the greatness of the day that person was alone at home and took the greatest shit of all time...

...Ok, class dismissed...reflect on that until next class... ...

...Scraps-n-Drafts...

2011-04-10T17:06:00.000-07:00

...I told my girlfriend to take it like a man...

..."Did somebody write that down?"...

..."I'm an animal lover," my brother said...but added, "I'd don't think I'd ever put that in writing"...I would...did...

..."On second thought, this is a great gift"..."On third...no, it's not"...

..."Do you have any gum?"..."Yes...want a piece?"..."No thanks"...

...Just pretend I'm not even here...I don't even have to pretend...I don't know exactly where I am...but certainly not here...

...Alcohol commercial: just show a man's shoes with a bottle next to them on the floor...(man's worn shoes, having a drink after a hard days work)...

...Get on a stage...but tell audience to excuse you because you have to go to the bathroom...walk off stage and say it went away...where'd it go?...every time you get on stage you have to go to the bathroom...you get off and it goes away...opposite of bathroom stage freight...

...I'm going to describe the indescribable...I'm going to write what words can't explain...

...The idea that I think it's funny makes it funny...

...Treadmill idea: running on it...person next to me says, "Boy, you're racing"...out of breath, I say, "Trying to get there"...

...Album title: I like How Your Shirt's Tucked Into Your Boxers...

..."Ladies and Gentlemen...'Licking Knives'"...

...Sitcom called..."Relax...Oh, ok"...
...someone told me to relax...I said, "Oh, ok...I didn't think of that...thanks...should I eat 3 meals a day too?...or is it now 5?...or 6?...how about a peanut every other minute?...how many meals would that be?...every minute would have been ridiculous to say...

...a nod from a stranger / a reminder / I'm still alive...

...Add to list of hobbies / or simply things I enjoy: scratching off the crusty thing underneath a Dunkin Donuts coffee container...it's a good time...similar to the fun of pushing down the buttons atop a soft drink you get at McDonald's that say diet, etc....both are two of America's greatest past-times...they aren't?...

..."Do I have a good chew?...some people are all over the place or too up and down, too chompy"...

...You smell like chicken wings...no, but that's a good thing...

...My tweets on Twitter always say, "Not reading your tweets"...

...Dissect usage of words draw and drawer...

...Skit about reading these ideas I come up with on trains like those that say prayers on trains do...how insane do you have to be?...

...Sitcom: Elementary school kids have meetings before school about how they are going to mess up teacher's day...for example...today Barry-Joe is going to make comments about the cat's ass in today's read-aloud story...and all the kids are going to have a case of the jimmy-legs during spelling class...And, during share, all kids are going to tell stories that make no sense and they will end without the proper voice ending so you don't know they are finished...and we're going to laugh at things that aren't close to being funny, but we're kids so we can laugh at anything...Sally is gonna often repeat things that other students already said and play if off like she wasn't even in the same room...but all these are premeditated and given during the pre-school meeting...Have a leader of the class running the meeting...giving each student their annoyance of the day...another example...Michael is the leader and tells Mathew, "You are going to stand on your head or sit in odd positions on the rug during lessons and story time...the teacher is going to tell you to stop and think you have attention-span problems, but then we will all laugh, and our teacher won't understand why we're all laughing, and she'll play it off that we are just kids being kids...they don't know about these meetings"...

...Tell the audience that your act is filled with "you should have been there" jokes...

..."Don't put that cup on that coaster...it's a brand new coaster"...

The Garrett Convention - - Coming Soon!!!

2011-03-23T08:06:00.000-07:00

This spring, on June 22, there will be The Garrett Convention held at Packer Collegiate Institute in Brooklyn Heights. All Garretts are invited and are welcome to participate in the discussion – a focused one – for that’s what Garretts do – focusing on what it means to be a Garrett, what the benefits are, and what blues Garretts go through walking around every day as Garretts. Registration will begin at 9 AM. No information needs to be provided, and no IDs will be checked. Personally, I will look at you and decide if you truly are a Garrett. If you are, you can proceed into the gymnasium and enjoy chicken wings and raspberry iced tea (a Garrett favorite!) while waiting for the convention to start. Chances are I will know whether you are a Garrett before you even open your mouth, introducing yourself, “Hi, I’m Garrett”. Most likely I will be able to tell by your walk when you enter the building, and respond, “No…your not…I am”. Garrett walks do vary, but all have a unique swagger that only Garretts can pull off. True Garretts cannot catch a fake from miles away – we cannot see that far, and never will be able to. Nevertheless, we can spot the fakes once within our sight. If you are a fake, you will be shown the door – which is odd…Garretts already know where the door is…that they just walked through! The convention begins at 10 AM. Do not be late. Showing up on time is not just general good advice, but true Garretts are never late – yet always fashionable, most likely wearing a hooded sweatshirt, Larry David T-shirt, or button down.

Although debate about rap music is always brought up, and made more interesting, by Garretts, this convention would like to be more focused on what it means to be a Garrett – so we will briefly blast into why rap music is extremely sub-par right now, but let us Garretts agree to agree on “that” fact and move onto more important topics of the day. The rap music discussion can be debated in more detail during the following week’s convention, Why Do White People Know More About Black People’s Music Than Black People? – They Don’t?

The more focused conversation will entail brief statements by each Garrett on how delicious the chicken wings were, and are. We will continue to eat them during the convention – maybe getting the microphones all saucy – but who cares – rhetorical. Next, we will open up the floor for comments about how we feel today. That will not take much time because the answer is “good” – whether or not that’s true – that’s what Garretts always say to the bullshit question, “How are you?” “Good”…or, should we delve into how we feel a little gassy at the moment, but “feel” it will subside after eating a few more chicken wings and drinking this “here” Guinness? That is what comes next. We simultaneously crack open “The Goodness” and say in unison, “Ahh…That’s a good Guinness”. I do not have to specify we will pour the contents into a pint glass – that goes without saying – but, now I am tongue, or finger-tied – because I just specified. Great lyric! “Somebody write that down”. And, that is a phrase we will use throughout the convention – because Garretts often say “things” that should be written down. I just wrote “that” down, but during the convention I won’t be able to write all the “great” “things” the Garretts say – hence, I need help “writing down”.

Next, we will dissect how people say, without you agreeing, “Let’s agree to disagree”. No, how about you agree to change your opinion, and I will agree to keep mine the same – so we actually agree. Then, we can move forward to more important things - like "spin moves". I have been thinking lately that I need to work on my spin move. No, not the basketball move, my spin move is flawless on the court. I am referring to my everyday, every arena spin move - like when walking down the street, and a mo fo approaches a freckled soul, and the only way to avoid bumping into them is to - spin move. I would like to dissect other Garretts' spin moves. I will not copy, I assure you. But, if we all put our heads together, I am confident we can all improve our spin moves.

And this leads us into the next topic - resume objectives. All Garretts have as their resume objective: Maintain and Maneuver. What better way to maintain and maneuver than to perfect ones spin move. Other ways to achieve this objective is to at least once a day bring to people's attention that "we are all adults here", a common Garrett phrase that I love to use when substitute teaching at the pre-school level - it levels the playing field - that in a pre-school classroom is "slick" - because either Jimmy or Bobby pissed on the floor. They rotate days. Monday is Jimmy's turn; Tuesday is Bobby's turn, and so forth. And, since "we are all adults" in "there" we can maintain and maneuver, spin moving around the puddles and continue to "pre-school". I also like to yell at the pre-schoolers, "If I see any schooling in here I am going to kick you out of this class!"

Another way, and possibly the best way, to maintain and maneuver is to listen to music. All Garretts love music. All Garretts get the blues - - it's an every other day struggle - I think Biggie said that. I love the blues. I love listening to the blues. I even love singing the blues. But, man am I sure sick of living them. All Garretts admit to their shortcomings. It's not "that" short. Anyways, what better way to deal with ones own blues than listening to old black guys from the 50s sing about their problems. Can Garretts call them black guys? Yes, they can - because that's what they are, or were. It will be interesting to see if any black guys show up to this convention. I have never met a black guy named Garrett -- but, then again, I have never met a black guy. I presently reside in Brooklyn, NY...Brooklyn! Garret Anderson doesn't count. He's a millionaire professional baseball player, but if you noticed, he spells Garrett incorrectly or simply can't afford the second "T". True Garretts use the double-T. Garret Anderson is welcome to the following week's convention though - which again is - Why Do White People Know More About Black People's Music Than Black People - They Don't?

This is a good time to make it be known that there will be constant bathroom breaks - Garretts have to take many-a-leaks, and let's leave it at that. Garretts don't want to talk about this. Walking to and "fro?" the bathroom will be a good chance to practice those spin moves. And, in the bathroom, the Garretts can all laugh at their usage of the fake hand wash, and then leave the bathroom and seek out a non-Garrett to shake hands with - it's hilarious every other time! Garrett's know when to laugh, and you should have just laughed. Once back from the bathroom, we will proceed with our "adult conversation", focusing on our constant development of great T-shirt ideas. I will go first - because "I Called It!", and if you object then I will take you to "I Called It Court", the court that decides which kid really called it first, a revolutionary court that has saved elementary school teachers hours, allowing them to focus on "teaching" rather than deciding "who called it" during recess. I wish they had this when I was in 3rd Grade -- Nate you know I called it to be first up in the kick ball game! The next time we play I am going first! Kids across America are claiming they called it first. If debate over this sparks, one kid may say, "Oh yeah...you think you called it first...my lawyer will be contacting you soon, and I will see you in court".

I have many great T-shirt ideas, as do all Garretts -- but the one I'd like to talk about at this convention is my idea of putting my resume on the front of my T-shirt. First, that is a great way to advertise oneself, and it saves trees...it doesn't? It will have "that" objective: Maintain and Maneuver. Under experience it will convey my extensive "experience" creating first-scene ideas. All Garretts come up with great first-scene ideas. I know we all agree all fields can use somebody that constantly says, "That'd be a great first scene, wouldn't it?" If you don't agree, you're not a Garrett and are just jealous I came up with that first scene. Peep this first scene idea: Couple are eating breakfast at local diner, and the conversation is not flowing - actually nothing is being said. They just stare for about a minute, looking around the diner, the camera providing a couple close-ups of their facial expressions - voided of, of course, this early in the morning. The guy looks down, sees a crumb on the table left by the last customer...And decides to flick it at girlfriend. Then, the sitcom theme song begins, and so does America's next hit show, it doesn't? No, it doesn't...not until "this" first scene guy is hired. People ask me what I do. They see my walk, and nearly perfected spin move, and are immediately interested in what I "do". I tell them, I "do" much, but I specialize in the creation of first scenes. I don't explain, and then walk away, leaving them flabbergasted - so shocked, and amazed, they get gas. The rest of what my T-shirt resume entails will be revealed at the convention.

Another T-shirt idea: On the front - I love you. On the back - despite who you are and what you have become.

"Then" - we will take a lunch break, and "then" come back, and I will most likely ask somebody to do lunch the next day. I have never done lunch and would like to try it. Garretts always seek out new adventures. Next, I will offer dessert, most likely chocolate chip cookies, and purposely break one, apologizing, "Oh, I am sorry that one broke. Would you like a whole one? They don't taste the same when they are broken"...I am so proud of this observation that I might hold another convention dissecting why cookies taste differently when they break. I have to see how this fits into my schedule though. I am very busy. I also teach How to Jump A Puddle Correctly and With Style 5050 at Columbia University, I don't? Lunchtime can often spark debates about health, and Garretts may offer one another a multi-vitamin. I will decline because I pet my cat Bob Dylan daily - he's a multi-vitamin. And, this will spark the never-ending discussion about my cat Bob Dylan. Everyone has heard about the legend, but my brother and I are the only ones that get to kick it with him "on the daily". At this point, I will have really started to miss Bob. I will run out of the convention, hop on the R-train, and arrive back in Bay Ridge Brooklyn where Bob more than likely will be doing his afternoon workout routine, sprinting from the living room to bedroom, displaying his perfected spin move. Perfection is not what Garretts strive for. We know everyone is not perfect. Even Bob isn’t – example being – he’s got really strong yet weak hind legs. Strong on the way up, a great vertical…but struggles on the dismount. Kind of like my struggle to dismount this writing – spin move…I will see you at the convention!

...looking for job!...updates coming soon...like that job!...

2011-03-15T08:26:00.000-07:00

...We've Got Rules!...

2011-02-16T05:42:00.001-08:00

(READ IN A BROOKLYN ACCENT)

We've got rules and agreements in this society...like if I'm walking home with these groceries in this hand, this coffee in my other hand, and I drop the coffee, I don't pick it up...someone else will come by later and pick it up...and I can move on with my day that was almost ruined by my dropped coffee...and move on without the litterer (er, er) guilt...Yeah, that's one of the agreements, and many more are to come.

RIP White Stripes...

2011-02-02T21:18:00.001-08:00

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

2011-01-08T01:10:00.000-08:00

...I see the morning light

I see the morning light
Well, it's not because
I'm an early riser
I didn't go to sleep last night...

...Bob Dylan lyric from Walkin' Down the Line, a song I first heard from my latest purchase, Bob Dylan - The Witmark Demos: 1962-1964.

...It's like having a brand new, or two, Dylan albums...check it out...nothing has been more of a remedy to my insomnia than his voice...I don't know if that's completely true...but I do know it's not completely false...whatever that means...I shouldn't have written that and left you wondering if I was trying to be funny or deep...or something...can you say "or something" after "deep"...I know the answer to that is 100% "Yes" - because I just did...anyways...it's fun to just look at the above picture...and wonder...I advise you to do so...while I unload this dump truck...

Looking into an empty room
I like seeing instruments just sitting there
And wonder about the possibilities
that can be put into the air
I too, like looking at still-photographs
of an artist just sitting
I know she's thinking of what the future's going to be bringing
And what about the moment of silence
before one starts singing
That moment of conception or creation
Put a pen to pad
And whatever's jotted is foreverlasting
Can leave us crying, balling
tears running
or laughing
Not thinking about it
But the next moment could be crashing
Things aren't in the process of
Or we don't notice the process, "stopping"
Things just.

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

2010-12-30T09:27:00.000-08:00

...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...

2010-12-22T03:35:00.000-08:00

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"...

2010-12-22T03:01:00.000-08:00

...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...

2010-12-18T05:46:00.000-08:00

- 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"...

2010-12-18T05:16:00.000-08:00

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"...

2010-12-16T05:51:00.000-08:00

...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...

2010-12-10T06:07:00.000-08:00

...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...

2010-12-08T05:46:00.000-08:00

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"...

2010-12-08T05:13:00.000-08:00

...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 today'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

2010-12-06T08:59:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-06T05:09:00.000-08:00

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...

2010-12-04T23:38:00.000-08:00

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...

2010-12-02T05:37:00.001-08:00

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...

2010-12-01T04:52:00.000-08:00

...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"...).

"Is he really going to write that down?"...

2010-11-21T05:31:00.000-08:00

...Yes, he is...and did...and here's what was written down:

- I missed an opportunity today to really help out a co-worker...I had come out of the bathroom, unisex, and her schedule for nature calling was just behind mine I learned...She said hi, I mumbled the same, I'm more of a nodder, and my hi was distorted by my brain trying to finish its debate over whether I should warn this co-worker about how the person before me peed all over the seat...before my brain finished the debate she had entered the bathroom...and then the next debate started, "Is she going to think I peed all over the seat?"...well, I left, I think, the seat up, so no, she won't think I was the one...I did leave the seat up, right?...

- Not Yoko said, "Oh, he's really going to write that down"...she said this after I said, "Stop digging your back into my elbow...oh, that's good stuff...I should write that down"...I got up to get the notecard I had written the above "pee on the seat" story on, leading her to say, "Oh, he's really going to write that down"...what is it in my mind that makes me believe I should write these thoughts, I call them "ideas", down?...is it my confusion about me thinking I could possibly one day be a writer?...I already am, I'm not?...and does that confusion come from the sleep deprivation?...or was I delusional to begin with?...those are questions to forever ponder, and I'm sure this freckled soul will...but for right now, let's focus on what else I wrote down on that notecard...oh, and by the way, I had said, "Stop digging your back into my elbow" because we were lying in bed and, well, her back was digging into my elbow...

- The joke about this being more like "Monthly Nuggets" is hilarious...hilarious enough to spark a whole new blog of your own...good luck with that...

- Actually talking to ones gut to make decisions in life..."The talking gut"...

- Dissect "Illegitimate Child"...show picture of baby and confirm, "Yes, it's not legitimate"...

- "Who describes a sitting person as tall?"...

- Open up art gallery with children drawings and show people discussing them in the ridiculous way "they" discuss "real" art...

- Things women think of that men never would...like, "I want to have a dinner party"...why as a guy have I never thought, "I'd like to have at least 8 people over and feed them all"?...I have enough trouble feeding myself, forget feeding the faces of my friends and their "partners"...partners?...apparently another law firm has been established...

- Conversation about her pimple hurting and me saying, "Your constant conversation about your pimple hurting is hurting me"...

- "It sounds like the dishwasher's on...but we don't have a dishwasher"..."Yeah, what is that sound?"..."It's the dishwasher"...

- Everybody wants to tell you how busy they are...like you have time to participate in a conversation about how busy somebody else is...apparently they aren't that busy if they have time to discuss how busy they are in a conversation...listing everything they have to do...oh my god!...

- Start writing "Resume"...movie idea I had, and will have again...idea about people being interviewed but using their "real" resume instead of the bullshit ones we all create...

- I was laughing and she asked, "Are you ok?"..."Yeah, I'm laughing"...

- "Do you want to go to the store with me and get stuff to make a fruit salad?"...the idea that somebody would ask me that is hilarious..."Yes, I was sitting here hungover and was thinking I really want to go to the store and get ingredients for a fruit salad"...she's still asking me about the fruit salad as I type this...and I still really want to go to the store and get those ingredients...no, I really do...

- "Oh, I thought you cut that toenail"..."No, well, we've had a good run...might as well keep it going"...

...The Right to Write - Exercise

2010-11-17T06:51:00.000-08:00

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

Sat. Sept. 11, 2001 - "Morning Pages" - Day #32 - Home, CT, not Brooklyn, but still chillin', and writing, the only way I know how...

...I've been putting off writing today. I've talked about being anxious before, and this is different, but there's this anxiousness sitting in my stomach before I write. I 'm nervous about the performance. I've referred to each night sleeping as a performance, another failed attempt, by now you know what I'm talking about...Well, most of you do, except that guy, he sucks, and doesn't understand anything I talk about - and that's what he and I have in common - but he still sucks...and that's what I'm afraid of, that I'll suck, and end up like that guy...I'd take a picture of him so you could see how much he sucks, but I'm afraid he'll break my camera...and so, yeah, I feel anxious before writing. It's a lot like an athlete before a big game - what?...it's exactly like that? Ok, I'll agree. The only exception is that I'm using my mind more so than my body. This makes me think of using mind and body -- those damn people at that expensive gym. I'm talking about the gymsters that run or bike and read at the same time. I was going to say I'm sorry, but realized I'm not...but, if you can read then you can't exercise. Ok, I am not saying that literate people are so unathletic that they completely don't have the ability to exercise, no. And, on the other side, this would be playing in to the idea that the most athletic can't read. Like Charlie in It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia said, "Illiterate, what does that even mean?"...What I am saying is that if you are exercising, to the point that it could actually do something beneficial, then it is not possible to see the words enough to "read"...Fuck those people...go to the library, get in a quick read, couple sets, then go to the gym, get a quick jog in, couple chapters...otherwise you're going to end up like "that guy" I was talking about before, remember?, he sucks...

...This anxiousness before writing remains though...I guess it's a good thing in a way, you know, I want to do a good job...I've thought before that writers are just adult athletes, and I know Tom Brady is 33, a perceived adult, but he still throws a ball around, grow up Tom and pick up a pen...

...I write while waiting for my food to be delivered, just another starving artist, I'm not?...The food arrives, interrupting this flow of great writing, but...but I ordered soul food, and it will more than likely help my writing, adding some soul...let me pause to feed this freckled soul's face...be back as soon as the emptiness is filled...filled with Chicken Peppernota, I think Shakespeare ate that...after Juliet committed suicide, if you heard differently, you were lied to...pause...

...I'm surprised it took me this long to make the writer-athlete comparison -- because, I agree, I'm such the prototypical student-athlete, athletic-scholar...I have to get my right hand in better shape for this upcoming season though, it hurts doing all this writing...I thought after that meal I'd come back with more soul...but, I didn't show up to write today...It's time I start taking it seriously...I think I'm getting there, but can do better, get into better writer-shape...We scream at the television, "Catch the ball you damn millionaire!"...we get mad at athletes for taking plays off, but don't do so to ourselves...that might be because screaming "catch the ball millionaire" to ourselves wouldn't make sense...but, I'm being a lazy writer right now, and going to say I'll end up like "that guy", remember, he sucks, if I continue this laziness...I kind of suck today too, not my best performance...and I can't give you the, "I gave it my all", as I walk off this court...legal pad...

...Yeah, I was an athlete...was...and now pay for that expensive gym every month to try to get back to the athlete I was...Yesterday, I thought I was getting there, but today felt like I was 28 going on 38...you're almost there Brady!...I guess this writing is like trying to get back into shape, you're going to have days when you feel like you're making progress, other days you feel like like what you're literally doing - running in place on that treadmill, going nowhere, gaining no progress...But, I'll live to see another day, right?...Like I said, I haven't begun writing that bullshit movie yet...I find myself just going through the motions right now, just writing to full-fill today's self-imposed homework assignment, today's "Morning Pages" commitment...ready to fall asleep...I should have really done this in this in the "morning", remember?...

...I'm just going to fill these lines and get this over with today...I like the athlete-writer comparison...It specifically makes me look back at my athletic career, and I believe, I can apply what I wish I had done with that to my writing career...I'm not saying I could have played basketball professionally (yes I am), but eventually I have to make a living and writing is the way I'd like to do it...The comparison with athletes comes with me looking back on my athletic career and not going for it...I worked hard, but my personality, bashfulness, got in the way...As a basketball player you can't tip-toe your way around the court not trying to make mistakes...that's what I did...I still became pretty damn good though and will challenge anyone I've ever played with or against to a game of 1 on 1...I'm out of shape, but I'll still beat you...I guess, writing everyday is keeping my pen in shape...but eventually if I want to go "pro" I have to do more than just stay in shape...and not tip-toe, and just be another player, another writer, and not be afraid of making mistakes...

...On the last page I jotted down in the margins: Is it effort? Or just lack of confidence and the balls to go for it?...Well, unlike athletes, writing has no age-hour-clock...I'm going to write the rest of my life and answer these questions...Some days athletes suck, some days writers suck...but we all can live on...knowing we will never suck as much as..."that guy".

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

2010-11-06T08:16:00.001-07:00

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?

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

2010-10-16T13:35:00.000-07:00

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

Thurs. Sept. 9, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #30 - South Street Seaport, NYC, picnic table...chillin'...writin'...etc.-ing...then train ride home...1/3 of the way to 90...

Starting out to write -- we've discussed this before, insinuating that you, the reader, has participated in these discussions, which is not the case, I'm really referring to my voices in my head discussing pretty much all of what I write...I've talked about that starting point being hard, referring to people in South Street Seaport passing you by as distractions, but really you're just postponing that start...Again, talking to myself most of the time in my writing, when writing "you" I'm talking to myself, remember, walking down the street...Essentially, I'm the distraction, distracting myself from starting...nothing clicks, for what to write, so I put the pen down, twist the ice tea cap and take a sip, almost before finishing the previous one...maybe once my thirst is quenched, I'll be ready to write...But also, maybe not...

...You place the pen to pad, and, shotgun, the race is off, or feels like so, and now you're into a topic, not of your choice, but somehow it just popped in, you don't know how, it's hard to explain to yourself how you come up with your ideas...forget explaining it to others...the race halts, and along with ideas, you have to come up with other distractions and reasons for the writing stopping...put on headphones and maybe a musician has a topic, or distraction...all I really want to do is listen to music anyways...I once wrote, in lyric form, I'm so poetic, I agree...once wrote:

...And while you're off doing that / I'm gonna listen to the music until I go deaf / And after that / You can tell me what's left - to live for...

...The Rolling Stones are talking in my ears...and for some reason, I first wrote "ear's", possessive, apparently making sure everyone knows they're my ears, mine!...The Stones, for now, have provided that topic, that distraction - distraction away from thinking of what to write, and now I'm just writing...We need distractions in our life...Without them we would go insane, caring way too much about the results of everything we do...We all need this, but I'm thinking I especially need distractions - because I'm selfish...and well, I need a distraction from my over-tiredness, I need a distraction away from the fact - I still don't feel completely present...And, writing about this is a great distraction away from thinking about my insomnia, good going, Mick, you picked this topic, I certainly didn't...Sometimes we call them distractions, or maybe me writing is just accepting my mental home, I could always be sleep deprived, and this is me moving on, or tying to...I don't want to ignore the problem to the point it gets worse, but a freckled soul has to get out and live...so yeah, I think it's ok to fill my life with as many distractions as possible...Music has been, and will always be, my go-to distraction...like Mick is singing in Torn & Frayed, "As long as the guitar plays"...

..."Not Yoko" has called me a distraction, I guess one away from the problems and concerns in her life...I wonder what shes uses as a distraction when I become that day's problem...But, last night, we both needed a distraction, or maybe just some entertainment...so we headed out...to the Pete Molinari, and Daniel Wayne concert...check out review here...

...Jotted in Margin: distractions in life, making life easier, or postponing responsibilities...

...

...A train ride home...from today's "Morning Pages"...

...Everybody's tired, holding their breathe, riding a train to a stop where they can rest and exhale...on the ride they observe other riders, looking at their shoes that can tell stories of today's journey, yesterday's happenings, and a person's quest for what they want out of the tomorrows, literally tomorrow, and also years down a road...that man's stroking his beard, combing it now, which, to observers, appears to do nothing, but in his head he knows it does something, and that something is so simple yet can allow someone to go on with their day, more peacefully, possibly...she's got Roses on her lap, and knows somebody still cares...I write, and forget to get off my stop, fuck!...subconsciously remembering 36th Street had snapped and flashed into view, but kept writing and riding...a good thing, somewhat inconvenient, but caught living in the moment...a teacher once told students to hold these moments precise, remind yourself when you catch yourself happy, in the moment with laughter and conversation, or writing, self-conversation, sometimes aloud, walking down the street...

...

Opener: Man life gets insane...clap if you feel like life gets insane sometimes...yeah, life can get insane at times, like especially when you find yourself taking expressions too literally...I caught myself taking the saying "Laughing all the way to the bank" literally...I actually tried that shit...got in the car and started laughing...the bank was 5-7 minutes away...(start laughing)...it's funny...really funny at first...then you start realizing what the hell you're doing...insanity kicks in, but you keep laughing...you're determined...but then start thinking...maybe you should laugh all the way to the insane asylum...

...

...Yeah, life gets insane, like you ever catch yourself calling your mom to tape Oprah...well, Will Smith and Fam are going to be on...a commercial about the farewell season said so, making me day dream about one day being on Oprah, us discussing my new book, which of course includes the middle urinal metaphor, one of Oprah's favorite topics, and metaphors.

...Caught myself missing that stop, caught writing, without thinking, while listening to Ray Lamontagne's song You Are the Best Thing, realizing that's what she is...and maybe we agree, we are both each other's distraction...it's not for good or for bad, just human, and that's what we all need..

...When is the last time you really needed to check the time, forgot what hour you're living in...that's what I'm after...you stare at the clock a lot as an insomniac...you think a lot about food when you're starving...Well, I don't, at least for this moment, know what time it is, and forgot to care that people might be watching me write...and that's today's train ride...

...add to -- everything's a lyric, etc....everything's a train ride...

...We need distractions, otherwise we'd go insane worrying about today's meeting, or tomorrow's physical...it's a metaphoric physical though...you really don't have to turn your head and cough while the Doc cups your balls, you do?...Or, worry about the next day's joke...joke that since you're worrying, you will hear deafening silence, before finishing telling it, worrying too much about results, instead of just living, in the moment...sometimes it just takes a train ride...a few missed stops...for a story...or today's distraction...to get through...

...I caught myself racing still, although more so to the page to get this all down, rather than to nowhere, like before...

...Talking about distractions, I've thought, and I'll do it again!...thought that maybe I use jokes, and toilet metaphors, etc., to distract you away from what I really want to write, or get of my chest (hairy)...I haven't figured that out yet, but believe I'm heading, traveling, getting, there.

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

2010-10-10T18:02:00.000-07:00

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

Wed. September 8, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #29 - Girlfriend's, feeding cat, trying to take nap...fail...so write...

...Add more pillows for each of my body parts, each muscle, they are rattling, jumping in opposite directions, pulling me nowhere, actually add a straight-jacket...to each muscle...give them sedatives, so they all can live, within my body, someday peacefully...and maybe one day my mind and body can harmonize...sleep writing...

...And, so my girlfriend's at her first day of school, no, she's not a first grader going to her first day of school, she actually teaches first grade, our song separating for more hours this coming fall..but, it'll come back on as we come back together later in the day, nighttime...maybe making us appreciate one another more...learning that maybe the saying's true - "There's always a great woman behind every good man"...but, then again, tell that to the homosexual men that just tied the knot in Massachusetts, "not that there's anything wrong with it" (Seinfeld), forever subscribing to that philosophy, of course...I think that's how the saying goes, I don't memorize them, usually let them go in one ear, out the other, like parental advice too often...I also read once that Louis Armstrong said there is always a white man behind every black man's success (again, check quote at later date)...I'm not exactly sure what he meant by that, and I ain't got the time to dissect, Louis...Louis, I ain't got the time...I think what he meant is that eventually a soul must find a white man to be behind a black man's curtain of glory...Yeah, I agree, I think Louis and I speak a similar language...like Omar Epps, remember?...Now, I've never listened to Louis Armstrong's music, but I give a belated congratulations to him for landing on the moon...what white guy helped him garner that feat?...Well, Louis, I'll see you around the block sometime, you and Jenny (Lopez, from the block)...snoring awake...

Jotted in Margin: Van Morrison's "Joe Harper Saturday Morning" playing...

...I'm writing like I'm a person walking down the street talking to oneself, like a wino, or does it have to be so vulgar?...maybe he's just an insomniac, dreaming, not sleeping, so he's writing, dreaming, sleep-writing, while walking, and others think he's talking to himself...maybe he doesn't need a drink, maybe just a nap...some Zs if you could, please?...

...I don't have time to ask if I'm ok, he says to himself, walking down the street, but would you?...This morning, at 5:30ish AM, I was walking back to my apartment, talking to myself, asking this, that, and a million other things, looking at the still darkness, making it feel like it was another late-night, just arriving home, sobering up, seeing the night turning into day, again...sleep-writing...

...I think about stopping this writing, a pause to go to that expensive gym...which people think I use to get back into physical shape...it's just as much for mental shape though, each sweat, a drop of insanity falling to the floor, and hopefully out of my body, forever...also, hopefully, that guy working out with the fanny-pack and coffee?, hopefully he trips on my sweat-drops, whatever...next thought...next one...onto the next before I can write...the next one...etc. ...

...I think of making lunch first before I go to the gym, it could be sitting there ready when I get back...but, I decide, or whoever's conducting this ship today decided, I'm too tired to make it -- perceived laziness, possibly...I can't make up my mind...think now, that maybe it's God's plan to not have me sleep well, lately, to put me back in that mind state when this sleeping problem was at its worst - so now, I can get it all down...my thought-dreams...but, I'm not looking for a damn message from God, more so, a friend...tell me what you truly think...and does it always have to be over beers...to make us open up...who's conducting today?...

...I take like 5 showers a day, to wake up, so when I do leave the apartment, girlfriend jokes that I never do, I say it's because I'll get sunburned, she says, it's winter, I counter that jab, saying, yeah, but it's windy outside, wind burn, etc. ...take 5 showers per day so when I do go out, I can at least pretend I'm a part of regular society...I try to walk out, go to the gym, but my Moleskine keeps calling me...a whisper in the head, like an alcoholic calling liquid his friend?...

...Lou Reed's singing The Velvet Underground's Beginning to See the Light, and asking, "How does it feel to be loved"?...First, and again, this isn't my corny attempt to insert a song about seeing a light...or, in sequence with my writing, seeing those signs...no, not that attempt...I was really playing this song...this jumping around, or what appears to have been, in my mind at least, I haven't reread this yet...but think I'm jumping around in this writing...the jumping around is just a reflection of what's going on in my mind, can't shut it off, or organize it, sleep deprivation at its best...and worst...making me repeat Lou Reed, "How does it feel to be loved"?...Well, damn good...damn fucking good, and I think I'll call her to make sure she'll be at the Pete Molinari concert tonight...more music, continuing our song...similar to other writers inserting prayers, poems at the beginning of chapters, I like inserting lyrics, they are like prayers...this whole writing thing's a prayer...somebody once told me I don't have a prayer...I think I do now...and all these prayers, or lyrics we read, write, make life just a little bit easier...and so does that love, Lou...and Louis...

...I've organized today's thought-dreams the best way I know how, through writing -- through it...and now it's time to make that call..and leave you with this, a few lines from my song Footprintin'...also known as And Let the Blues...check out the rest here...

...And let the blues become a soundtrack that another lonesome boy steps to / And let my ideas become a path that we will one day walk through / And on the other side see it footprints...

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

2010-09-26T11:26:00.000-07:00

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

Tues. Sept. 7, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #28 - Columbia Park, Borough Hall, Brooklyn, steps...

I'm making moves, not on your girlfriend, already got one, making moves past, by, out of my comfort zones. I was walking along Court Street in Brooklyn, after a slice of tomato pizza from My Little Pizzeria, passing the comfort zone of Barnes and Noble, a frequent writing spot...and, passing Dunkin' Donuts, ignoring the voice, one of them, whispering, Ice Coffee, Ice Coffee, Ice Coffee...I haven't had a Joe-cup all day, hence, I'm making moves, one of which was a spin move passed another douchbag wearing sunglasses with a suit...that's not ridiculous, it is?...Ok, I'm convinced...and now I find myself writing in Columbia Park, located in Borough Hall of Brooklyn...

...Today was the first official day that I consciously decided to not do my "Morning Pages" in the morning. It's not always procrastination, sometimes a decision to do something later...and, here I am making those moves, landing myself on these steps, doing my thang, writing today's "Morning Pages"...yeah, it's 3:41 PM, but I guess I needed some time away from the page, still ingesting that meet-up with that Jamaican Prophet. Again, this brings me back to how we get to certain places in our lives, and why I'm sitting on these steps writing. Why did that total stranger walk up to me the day after jokingly putting in Moleskine a warning sign to fellow train riders that one day they'd become characters in my novels, novels I haven't begun writing, or even planned to...and then, he said goodbye and that he looked forward to reading my book, soon, emphasizing soon like I had a publisher, or even mentioned I was writing a book...maybe I am...and he's one of those characters...

...Imagine book browsing in Barnes and Noble, and you come across some guy talking about the Middle Urinal Metaphor, you'd keep reading, you wouldn't?...or at least laugh, can I compromise a smirk?...I look at these people walking through the park after a days work, with their kids that are back to school, or acquaintances sharing their day's stories over coffee and cigarettes, all of which seems so normal, their lives so organized. The Jamaican Prophet, or so I labeled him, could have been sipping caffeine here yesterday, seemingly so normal, and as organized as the rest, but the next day he talks to a stranger about writing, mixing into the conversation something about Michael Jackson and Ricky Martin, don't ask...and now he's considered a freak, a weirdo. Me, one day I'm substitute teaching, or coaching basketball, seemingly normal and organized...the next day I'm caught writing about how taking a dump on a public toilet is a leap of faith, and people should use that as inspiration to take more leaps of faith in life...now I'm the freak, the weirdo...and I haven't even mentioned my orange hair yet, it can get weirder...Why am I writing, I don't know, exactly. People ask what I'd like to write, I don't know, exactly...Maybe it's a way of organizing my life, but...who knows, who knows?...

...Am I supposed to think yesterday was just another day turned somewhat weird because that Jamaican prophet came into my life and gave me one of those New York stories you'll tell your friends, "You wouldn't believe what happened"?...Or, I could actually just take his advice, keep writing simple, maybe he isn't a weirdo...or is one, but has occasional good advice, weirdos are capable of this at times, especially with writing, maybe...Or, maybe I'll play the weirdo, and believe in the other possibility. I could see him as a sign...I'm headed in the right direction...and should continue to listen to myself...just write...

...I continue watching these people walking through the park, racing, racing, racing. The guy to my left was reading, now just sitting, watching, and then sees me and gives me a "what the hell you doing" look...I'm writing, but other than that I have no clue...

...I sold out, I'm now writing at Starbucks, got that ice coffee, but I did this to write, to complete today's "Morning Pages". The coffee, it's my vice, it's my reassurance, my rationalization...it's just coffee, it's not like I'm an alcoholic rationalizing one drink, I am?...Yes, I'm drinking, but I'm writing, it's ok...coffee is often the first thing I ingest every morning, except today, and unless you count some toothpaste I swallowed...so, it's like my first taste of coffee is a psychological (yes, psycho) cue that I'm beginning my day, back on my path, back on a road, my road...maybe?...

Jotted in margin: college, insomnia, where's the job I was supposed to get?...not organized, etc....

...All those passing people I was watching earlier aren't as normal and organized as they appear. I know this because it has to be true if the same goes for me. First of all...among all the possible things that could go first, this is first of all...I am white, it doesn't get more conventional, or normal, than that, right?. My girlfriend is Asian, she's so weird...I mean interesting and unique (insert observation of old white guy observing black people at a later date)...Or, at least, it's been my perception that I've had a conventional life, no white picket-fence, but whatever...I'm thinking all these people (except that guy, he sucks) has a hidden talent, or at least something they'd like to pursue...it could be something as simple as searching for ones lost glow stick...it could be...however, that something they'd like to pursue may not fit their persona of what they appear to be - so they are scarred to try it...and it seems, the older you get, often, the harder it is to sway off path, deny your persona. Kids live freely and try things on the spot...that might be the reason so many of them try drugs (or Theater!), and get hooked early, grow up, and we label them alcoholics, call them adults, they're human, and they can't escape their persona...(insert what I wrote, vision for writing here, but was scarred to post)...

The following writing I wrote during "Morning Pages" Day #27...like the above said, I was too scared to post it then...but, apparently a day after, I made the decision to insert it into Day #28...in the margins next to this writing I jotted: Insert into Day #28 - take leap and insert, damn it!)...here it is:

Back home. Brooklyn. Bob's hanging out. Jack White's yelping out the Ipod speaker...you can't beat time, no matter how fast I race this pen...you can't escape being human, no matter how hard I'd like to just be completely present and not think too far ahead...We all have immediate visions for our life, or an immediate vision for what we write. My immediate vision, or idea, or goal, was to simply write 3 pages everyday, just that, be in the moment with that and not plan ahead what I wanted to write...And, well, me not being able to escape being human, my mind wanders, it wonders what this will become...And, well, my immediate vision was to write, but we all have a faraway vision for what we'd like our life, or work, or writing to be, because...I'm swaying away from my comfort zone here, but telling myself it's ok this time...my faraway vision is to humanize art...who knows, who knows...

...

...Humanize art...Like I said, I'm white, so as normal as they come, and by they, this time, I don't mean black people, I mean normal people, I think?...Anyways, my point is, and I'm still working it out in my head as I write, people's perception of writers is that they aren't normal or don't have organized lives...It's been my perception my whole life that I've had a conventional life, that I am normal. I still believe this, but wasn't aware vices like coffee, inventing metaphors using toilets, and being an insomniac was part of a normal life, now seemingly very unorganized, especially in my racing mind, I just wrote novel #52 in between lines, but couldn't get it down fast enough...Anyways, I think I'm getting somewhere, and think I should continue to believe, or think this way, remember, I once won an Award for thinking...And, I'll sign off for today with -- Am I insane, or do I finally have the balls to do what I want to? Or, am I so scarred to end up doing something else that it'll actually force my hand and I'll end up doing what I want to...questions...all mixed in with years of sleep deprivation...I'm on my train ride home, acknowledging it's Brooklyn, now...And, I've realized I've forgotten to read that self-assigned novel assigned during "Morning Pages" Day #1, busy writing my own? (Insert "Cliche" lyrics about wanting to be like writers)...

...And for those lyrics I'm supposed to insert, again...in my song (my song, ha!) "Cliche" I wrote: ...You should have learned patience, but didn't/ and now all you feel is the constant act of being on the run/ you want to be like those writers that make your mind run/ but don't know/ "they are always in the constant act of becoming"...that last line is in quotes because Kurt Vonnegut wrote something like that...it was him or Bob Dylan...add another thing for a later date, looking quote up...todaboconoma...

...And, I end the day, perceivably normal, waiting for a phone call, remembering the train as a reassurance, and comparing it to the reassurance of knowing someone's going to call at night... telling you she's on her way home...and as I wrote that I honestly just heard a text message...pause to check phone...says she's on her way, I can breathe...another day.

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

2010-09-25T19:13:00.001-07:00

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.

...whateva man...

2010-09-24T22:31:00.000-07:00

...Something tells me that one day someone will call me a genius...
...and I'll be so offended by the sarcasm...
...that I'll actually become one...
...I wont?...

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

2010-09-24T21:19:00.000-07:00

...My computer recently went kurplunk...so out of fear of losing a life's work of writing, I'm going to start posting stuff I've written...from memory...

...this one...from the archives of my thought-dreams, back when I was a kid?, written as a freshman in college, and then as a senior in college I attached this to the end of my senior thesis...when my insomnia began, I think...

Every Time I Write...

I want to write
And I want to write like there is no end
But because I know there is an end
I want to write so I can lend my friend - some knowledge
And in return he can lend me some of his
I want to write so we can live this
And the result is our kids being better off
I want to write so we respect the musician
And their music we bought
I want to write to ignite an original thought
Maybe something I have never contemplated before
I want to write so I can write more
Along the way there will be some more wants and maybes
And I know this music is not going to save me
Yet I savor the time I spend to write a rhyme
Maybe it will teach me
I want to write so the subject matter matters
I want to write for emotions like sad, happy, pissed off or cause laughter
I want to write another chapter and predict my future
I want to write not to preach
But tutor to stop the stagnation of neutered minds
I want to write not to undermine those who lived the life of crimes
But to stop future crimes
I want to write the sign of the times
And make them brighter
I write not to find her
Because it will come naturally
I write to capture the meaning of life
My life, my future
I choose to write
I want to write to paint a bright picture
Worth more than a thousand words but actions
Sent into your heart instead of your eyes
I write with no disguise
This is how I feel
I write to deal with the frustrations of growing up
I write what’s up, what brings us down, and what keeps evolution
I want to write to stop pollution of environment and soul
I want to write without races to see everyone as a whole
I want to write so much
But I have to pace
Because my heart feels like it’s in a race
I know you feel it in the base of my voice
I love writing
And it was completely my choice to take time and write this rhyme
I’ll write to climb the hill to the mountain of my potential
Wanting to write these is the writing credential
Write for a reason
Call your writing the age of reason
Write to escape the treason of yourself
For yourself and your family
I write
Not to impress
But to leave impressions
Writing might be an obsession
But with an objective to learn a lesson and testing my skills
While too many others gain thrills from materialistic things and drugs like pills
So their future never reaches the mountain of their potential
At the blink of an eye self-esteem falls down hills
I don’t want to write the tales about those who fail
Who go to jail
And the only bail out of this misery
Is suicide dead or alive
You in the past like history
Instead, I want to write and make history
Yet I know this generation isn’t going to read me
And even if played they still won’t listen or understand me
But I’ll keep writing and make sure my friends and family feel me
Because I do feel them
Every time I write.

...(eh, maybe my generation would understand me)...

...Moleskine Reward!...

2010-09-22T20:32:00.000-07:00

On the first page of "Moleskine" it says, followed by lines, "In case of loss, please return to:"...and I wrote, Garrett Kennedy, and my email address, kennedyg@mville.edu

Below that, it says, "As a reward:", and then a dollar sign, $...this led me to write, "Ha!" with an arrow pointing to that dollar sign...but, then I listed 10 realistic rewards you could receive if one day you happened upon my lost Moleskine...here they are:

1. PRIDE
2. Chocolate Milkshake...that brings all the boys to the yard (Boston accent)
3. High-five
4. A Big Salad
5. A reading of a list of rewards that you will never truly receive
6. One delicious chicken wing with your choice of sauce (he's pro-choice when it comes to sauce, people, but not for women's rights!)
7. A couple of laughs that'll give you gas...lady in front of you already found one of these, apparently!
8. Skin of ones mole (ladies and gentlemen, Skin of Ones Mole!...a band coming to perform near you!
9. Live living room performance of Andy Sandberg playing Mark Wahlberg talking to animals
10. Lists don't need ten!

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

2010-09-21T18:43:00.000-07:00

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

Sun. Sept. 5, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #26 - Girlfriend's apartment @ 12:43 AM...another bad one...ranting...

I wish I could stay awake to write all of this down, I wish I could tell everyone how I feel, like that guy, fuck him, I wish I could tell my girlfriend that I love her, I have, but I don't think she completely believes me, and I don't know if I completely believe anything I say until I'm completely well rested, when will that day come, I look to the ceiling, a few flies chilling, but answers to these fucking questions that I never asked, but then keep creeping in and coming back, make it impossible to comprehend my life, where it was, how it got here, and forget thinking about tomorrow, especially when you didn't even fall asleep last night, which means tomorrow is almost 24 hours away, for it's now 12:48 AM, and somebody else is conducting this pen...I'll organize these ideas tomorrow, or I mean later today, hopefully during sane hours...we'll see, who knows, no, seriously, who knows?

...

...I'm making Ramen noodles right now, another sign everything's going according to plan...the detail and insaneness of this dude's plan for life, to foresee he'd be making Ramen's on Sept. 5, 2010 at @ 2:50 AM, unbelievable, but true, isn't not?...I'm that dude, self-marveling...

...

...I had fallen asleep for, I'm guessing, 4 minutes and 26 seconds...my theory is that my empty stomach disrupted this attempt, another failed one, at sleeping...that's why I'm cooking (" ") Ramen's...it's like my mind is a TV that's on, the channels are flipping, no shows truly seen, just flipping, the off button's been pressed, pressed harder, but won't shut off, if only, if only...my body itches, I'm not sure if sleep deprivation makes a body more prone to the itch, but that's what's happening, making me constantly shift, involuntary gesture after gesture...gesture sounds like such a nice word, an action word that, say, a grandmother might do, but if that's true, fuck a grandma, because these involuntary "gestures" are keeping me up...and postponing me from growing up...yeah, whatever...who cares about growing up when all you want is to not wake up again in the same day...like today, or is it considered yesterday now?...Insomnia, a never ending song that tells you about all the cliches and metaphors of life, like the worst - "Life's a rollercoaster", it's got twists and turns, ups and downs, well yeah...life has diseases, and genocide, and drug abuse, spouse abuse, and now, metaphor abuse, and I don't want to have these conversations at 3:03 AM...but the song continues, and it's refrain is just more bullshit lyrics that makes life harder than it has to be - but it does convey the images of today turning into tomorrow because you physically see them every fucking morning when the clock hits 12, and later, when the sun awakes and rises...it's tomorrow, no, it's today...the song plays, bringing you down, again, that familiar hallway, walking from your girlfriend's place to yours, the walls pumping like they're your temples when you've got a migraine...

In the margins I jotted: Go into Inception...Beautiful Mind...John Nash, etc...

...Will I ever get the Ramen's out of the strainer holes...who strains Ramen's?...well, that was my decision, made at 3 in the morning...It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia is on and they're putting cats in walls...I'm not in the mood for an explanation, if you've seen the show, it makes complete sense...if you haven't, then remain confused and consider yourself normal - for life is confusing...but then, consider yourself not normal and borderline - loser - for not watching Sunny...just another reflection we're all insane...except Charlie, of course...signing off, and hopefully will sign back on during sane hours..."hopefully", again..."if only"...

...

...I meant to sign off, but I'm still awake...and so...and so, we are told not to live in "only ifs", but we all catch ourselves saying this to ourselves...and you can say it, "if only", or "only if", and which way you say it has no correlation to your sexuality, in case you were worrying, or wondering, or both...Of course, my "only if" is - only if I could fall asleep and get proper rest on a daily basis, and well, I'd be unstoppable, referring, of course, to on a basketball court, and off, on the streets, I wouldn't?...I've also said to myself - "as long as", and lately I added, "keep writing"...as long as I keep writing, etc....I'll get where I want to in life, writing will keep me going...but, at whatever insane hour I'm presently writing during, I walk over to change the Ipod, now playing AA Bondy...and, on my way back to the computer, to keep writing, I look at the bed, see someone in it, and realize it's the people in my life that'll, and do, keep me going...they will keep the writing going, keep it alive, me alive...

...

I eventually fell asleep, it must have been 5ish AM, and now I've signed back onto today's "Morning Pages" that I almost completed last night, well, earlier this morning, insane, it feels like a different day, hungover from last night's, earlier this morning's, writing, dreaming, writing...

...but, I feel good because today's pages are almost completed, and although I don't like the reality of what I wrote, it feels good to get these feelings off my chest, very hairy chest, remember?...with the freckled soul underneath...and again, these stories, my writing, dreaming, etc. and whatever, they're my self-torturing stories, and I'm glad to keep entertaining you with them...I hope you are enjoying them...and, I sign off for today with...and...go fuck yourself...I'm tired...and not quite yet sober with my insanity, "only if" and "as long as I".

Other margin jotts: keeping a pad on floor for when I can't fall asleep, well, I quickly write ideas down, while you're sleeping, and later, during sane hours, you can be entertained...I'm not a kid anymore...so I'm not afraid of the dark...more, now, it's like I'm afraid of the night.

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

2010-09-15T02:51:00.000-07:00

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

Sat. Sept. 4 - "Morning Pages" - Day #25 - Think Coffee, Bowery, Manhattan

On the train ride to nowhere, but ending up at Think Coffee, a coffee place on the corner of Bowery/Bleecker, I jotted down in my Moleskine, a bunch:

- relate Moleskine to Bible, etc. and what's more insane; imagine me reciting these, like the middle urinal metaphor, like some recite prayers on subways...

- because I've wanted, wished, and stared at too many walls not to pursue...

On this train ride, I'm writing, and again, listening to Bob Dylan. His music makes me feel like I'm traveling somewhere, there's nothing like it. It feels good when you feel like you're heading somewhere. The only thing that's better is those moments with family and friends when you can forget about going anywhere, satisfied, without knowing, that you are where you are, present...and that's the most important thing...the Asian guy across from me on this train is present, presently watching me write...while I listen to Dylan list what he saw, I list what I see...and the man in gray tight jeans, Cons, and a black button-down, flipped his Ipod, searching, aren't we all momma!...

I think about writing, and staring at that blank legal pad I write on most of the time these days...plans of creating something, whatever it is, or will be, it didn't exist yesterday...or seconds before I placed this pen to paper...it's a cool feeling, somewhat insane idea, but solacing to look back at what I've created...It's too hard to plan everything, that's just not the way life is, so why should writing be...while others plan, I want to be busy writing...I already spent years planning, nothing, planning, dreaming, wishing about days I'd sit and write...others are busy accepting lives and careers that already exist...and I realize, it's time to do the writing, wishing is essentially forever window shopping...in ones mind...it's time to do the work...

- streets connecting to Broadway...broadway to success...what people do to get there...(I had gotten off the train, and jotted that down in Moleskine, on my way to Think Coffee...

I race to my table to write this down, I came up with some good stuff while relieving myself in Think Coffee's bathroom...and you'll know it's good stuff once you've finished reading, you won't?

Thought: You would think a coffee place on the Bowery of Manhattan, CBGB's around here?, no it deceased...would think this place, where people wear t-shirts saying, "Protect me from what I want", and a place where people purchase over priced coffee, 3.25?, would be more environmental, but, no...it takes two covers to cover this ice coffee, another customer informed me after seeing my failed attempts with the usual, and more environmental, one cover...and I say, you would think, because I've been to the crossroads, the ones blues singers talk about, the place where they sell their soul, and I've seen the hypocrisies, but can't spell the word, of man...no...this I haven't done, but it sounded good in my head, leading me to think...and you should notice the start of this paragraph, look back, it says "thought:", and I just said "leading me to think"...this equals "a think" within "a thought", and I just blew your mind, I didn't?...but back to the, leading me to think -- what sounds good in your head, doesn't, when you write it down, and it's read...it's been entertaining though, right?...nevertheless...alwaysthemore...is there an opposite of "the" so that can be complete?...

...I tell myself to change to writing on that legal pad and develop further...go into how, maybe, being a hypocrite is human, and you, again, claiming to be so humane, but calls out hypocrisy, well, apparently isn't so humane...people shall be hypocrites to a certain degree...not to the degree that they receive a diploma, an actual degree in hypocrisy, but allowing us to talk about things without reservation, and down the road being able to change our minds without humility, or being called hypocrites by others...of course I'm a hypocrite because I said, like a political belief, that I'd switch to the legal pad, but haven't yet, I guess I'm human after all...despite all the blogs saying and campaigning otherwise...ok, switch time...and take a sip of my $3.25 coffee...that I've slammed other people for buying before, etc. whatever, switch to legal pad...for real this time...this wavering about switching writing palettes makes me think about all the days I thought about writing, staring at walls, oh the novels, novellas, I wrote in my head staring at "that" wall, it's a good wall...when I do finally decide to switch to the legal pad, I tell myself to go into...pause...take another sip...it really is better than that deli coffee, it's not?...again, I've ranted about coffee like this one, and then am hypocritical for buying it -- or maybe, people rant before they become...eh, let's do that switch now, I feel claustrophobic writing in this Moleskine, still impressed?...maybe claustrophobic like how people would feel if they couldn't change their opinions about anything and were called hypocrites every time they said they were going to do something, but didn't, etc. whatever...change to legal pad...the problem is, I keep wanting to change, but then think I thought of another good idea, too good to possibly forget on my way to grabbing the pad out of my bag...it's too hard to organize all these ideas in such little lines -- so really, switch to legal pad...(check legal pad for rest, I wrote)...

Again, jotted in Moleskine: T-shirt - Warning train riders, you will one day become characters in my novels...

...the rest, from legal pad, continued from Moleskine...

...I think about how this writing isn't organized, a steady flow of ideas, beginning, middle and the other part...it will have those parts, but not in the conventional school paper way, not conventional, and I'm shining with pride that I'm so original now...or, I just don't have the ability to slow my mind down, forever, possibly?...sleep deprived...you take a look at what I've done today...wrote on a train ride in a Moleskine about, well, whatever (yeah, whatever, maybe the name of this soon to be book, it's not?)...whatever...I wrote in the Moleskine, whatever came to mind, got to this cafe before passing other ones, for some reason too scared to try, they looked unconventional, and now I'm writing, continuing today's "Morning Pages", on that legal pad...When I was writing in the Moleskine I didn't even think of it as "today's pages", but that's what they've turned into...

...I see two other guys writing in this cafe...I'm so much like them...they are nothing like me...

...I will eventually explain that I do have a point to this writing, that being, I guess now - you can't plan everything in life, and as I jotted in my Moleskine, there are many different roads to success...inspirational, I agree, I don't?...I wrote in "Moleskine" on my way to this cafe: streets connecting to Broadway...broadway to success...what people do to get there...and, right now I just wrote: I wrote in "Moleskine", not my, or a, Moleskine, because we've become friends now, he's a person now, and I chat with him almost everyday...we think so much alike...what he says, you can read it if you open it up, is so similar to what's written in Daily Nuggets...ok...and so...a point?...

...I wrote the above, reread it, and laughed at myself, and Moleskine...sometimes you've just got to...

...I walked out my building in Bay Ridge Brooklyn, heading out to find a place to write earlier today. This was after "Not Yoko", by now you should know is my girlfriend, and I had breakfast at a diner, the waitress asking if we were ready, me saying, and never didn't mean something more in my life, "I was born ready"...we ate, and on our way back to our apartments, she suggested places to write, topics to write about...all were good ideas that I said I'll use, but who knows, who knows...My idea of these "Morning Pages" is to not have topics, or a destination place to write at, ahead of time. So, good ideas for a later date, "Not Yoko"...but, I got on the train with no idea of where I'd get off to write...I got on the train, put on my headphones, some ideas came to my mind, and I thought, maybe I'll get out at Atlantic Avenue, in Brooklyn, to write at the library just outside that stop...but as I approached Atlantic, I was writing in "Moleskine", and didn't want to stop, so kept going...I crossed Brooklyn to Manhattan, eventually getting to Broadway, and got off after thinking of what I wrote in a paper in college; wrote: There's not a Broadway to everybody's success...so inspirational, again, I agree...This was specifically referring to the idea that everyone isn't a star on Broadway, etc. whatever...that's the direct and literal interpretation...but of course, I've thought of another metaphor, and have switched my mind -- maybe, yes, there is a broadway to success, I'm learning that more everyday...well, I'll skip the learning for a few days, but then the lessons creep in, later, down a road...thinking about all my friends and what they're doing with their lives, it's funny what people become, I mean, I met that guy Nate when we were 9, and he couldn't make a sandwich if his life depended on it...but, then you think about that, if you're life depended on whether you could make a good sandwich...that would make making (almost the double make, it that possible?...anything is, it's not?) a sandwich quite difficult...many say, referring to a basketball player, "Man, that guy couldn't make a free throw if his life depended on it"...imagine the piss running down your shaking legs when you attempt a free throw that determines whether you continue living or not (Imagine!)...But, back to Nate and his sandwiches...another take is that if you realize your life depends on your ability to make a sandwich, well, that's disheartening, and another reflection, adding more questions to how'd life get to this place, how'd I get to this road, am I on the road to success?...well, Nate got that promotion, he's becoming pro, maybe announcing it soon on ESPN, but who knows...he's got his path, or so he thinks, I've got mine...Later, I will look up streets connecting to Broadway and it will inspire that metaphor that there is a broadway to success, it won't?...there isn't?...

What else I wrote in Moleskine on that train ride: relate Moleskine to Bible, etc. and what's more insane; imagine me reciting these, like middle urinal metaphor, like some recite prayers on subways...

...The middle urinal metaphor is a reference from a previous "Morning Pages". I won't go into it that much now, just imagine what that could possibly mean if you missed that post (Imagine!), or check back here...I'm going to sign off for today's "Morning Pages", and leave you with what else I wrote in my Moleskine during that train ride...I'm not getting lazy, I just like what I'm getting at, again, in this writing...I will organize these ideas at a later date...but I do like what I'm getting at...and at the top of one of the legal pad pages, that I did eventually switch to, I jotted: writing more - but less organized - but guessing in end it'll be better writing...how to slow down mind, or do I want to...

...This is a reference to me jumping from Moleskine to legal pad, and soon will be dismounting today's pages with something I jotted in the back of Ms. Cameron's book The Right to Write -- seemingly unorganized -- all a metaphor for what seems to be unorganized, or unconventional, way to success, actually is conventional, humane, etc. whatever. My train's coming, metaphorically, right?...signs are there....listening to, really listening to, not just a writer's bullshit attempt to inspire...I'm listening to The Velvet Underground's Train Coming Round Bend, and I think - for now on I'm going to list the songs I'm listening to while writing, these songs really do become the soundtracks to our lives...

Jotted again: writing insomnia Inception Beautiful Mind, etc. what yvette said yesterday, wondering if she knows the real me, etc...

Band -- Organized Chaos, or, Intelligent Chaos...

Jotted, in back of Ms. Cameron's The Right to Write: I'll care when the song stops...but I'm in the zone the second the needle drops...I'll care when the casket locks.

...And I'll say, I've learned, but don't really know, that hard work rarely goes unrewarded...I guess it's something we eventually have to believe...

...Is this a book, a screenplay in the works, a song crying out to momma, asking can you please spare another couple hundred because I'm short on rent again???...who knows...

...Also jotted in the back of that book: ...she said I was a writer, a free spirit...my instinct told me, that's the last thing I am -- but maybe what I'm becoming...maybe I'm the last to be knowing...I hope I get this knowledge for Christmas...put it on my wish list.

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

2010-09-14T07:43:00.000-07:00

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.

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

2010-09-13T06:17:00.000-07:00

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

Thurs. Sept. 2, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #23 - Again, house I'm sitting at, stealin' time...

Another late night jam session, another sub-par sleeping performance, I see each night sleeping as a separate performance now; however, "I feel good, and I [didn't] know that I would, now" (James Brown)...Yesterday's lows have vanished - seemingly so quickly. Sometimes it just takes a cat-nap to overcome ones fears and doubts about tomorrow's promises - imagine a cat with insomnia. I like that line, it makes me feel like a real writer, and I'm back on my path, or a train, toward the future I want. It's funny, it's not?...funny how yesterday could seem so devastating, we've had feelings like this before, and we know time will pass most doubts/feelings, but we still let them creep in and aggravate us off our path. It's like that John Butler lyric about how we know these feelings will pass...I'll look up that lyric later...and for the dude in my creative writing class that critiqued my short story Garbage (check it out!), and said, after reading the Bob Marley lyric I quoted, "You shouldn't use or rely on lyrics or quotes to better your writing"...well, fuck that guy and the horse he didn't ride in on...fuck that guy and the SUV he rode in on...Lyrics are a language that speak to me, it's like the Romance novels speaking to the lonely gal - except rational on my part, right?...Maybe I shall quote Romance novels for now on...maybe not...(consider looking up Romance novel to quote; also consider not doing this)...

I'm writing at this home again, watching the kids, and not as scared to get caught writing as I was before...at some point in life you've just got to stop caring, I guess...the kids keeping joking that I'm a terrorist. I'm not sure how that makes me feel...maybe I really am like President Obama, he's Muslim, he's not?...

I'm not sure what I'm getting at here, and don't care...I do know that I'm getting at something though, and will "fax' you when I find out exactly what it is...Let's assume I wrote this 20 years ago, and just dated each date in the future, and now that this "is" (it's not? just in case it's not yet, or ever?) a book, I have to explain it was written 20 years ago, and that's why I said "fax", not email...I must have written this when I was 8. Let's assume all of this...let's sit and stare at a damn wall, and assume everything...Let's assume this writing will lead somewhere so I can freakin' breathe and just write without, again, apologizing for who I am, or am not, who, also, again, nobody is directly asking for an apology from. Imagine that. Again, I ask my readers to imagine instead of them catching themselves in the imagining state. It's not lazy writing, it just cuts out all the bullshit about what the weather's like outside, and how the chair feels under my ass, useless detail/description that makes everything metaphoric, bullshit...and now imagine - somebody walks up to you and asks, "I would please like to receive an apology"..."An apology for what?"..."You know"..."No...no, I don't...I think I'm gonna walk away now...cause it's a dog-eat world out there, and I ain't got the time"..."Would you please apologize for who you are?"...I walked away before I could answer...but somehow still heard what the...cocksucker...requested...

I like what I'm getting at here, again, not in life, but with this writing -- one day the writing and life will converge - into, maybe, a writing life, etc, but also whatever for now...My mind's still on yesterday's writing, but it was more note taking, and those feelings, whatever it was, haven't developed yet, so I'm still organizing what happened yesterday. Again, when this is edited for book form, this may seem/get "repetitive", but again, I will claim that that (the double that) was intentional and another metaphor for life...

I jotted down in the margin: relate this to removing self from a place, like New York, and all the questions, yes, that others impose, but more so your own questions, for a million sprint through your head, but it's also like a marathon, constant and never ending, for an insomniac's mind...sometimes you just need to get away...

...I think about how to bring all of today's writing home, think about rereading what's already written, get some clarity and some sort of storyline -- but that's not the point of these "Morning Pages" - it's supposed to be first draft, and as much as possible, first-thought...it is a first draft (and still will be by publishing time because, a cracker don't edit)...this is a first draft and come to think of it, I thought of it like 4 sentences ago, but my mind's still racing and other thoughts crept ahead...come to think of it, life is a first draft...go vomit if you must because of another metaphor, I know I just did...but hey, it's true, life's a first draft, it's not?...

(Pause to take kids to the Y and Subway, etc.)...

...

This whole idea of anxiousness comes from us, or maybe it's just me, trying to fastfoward life too fast, and wanting to get to the future. This can relate to these "Morning Pages", and what I believe is being created. I don't want to get into specifics, and get ahead of myself, but it's like, whether we like it or not, that's what our mind does - in writing or any other of life's daily tasks, looking to the finish line instead of enjoying the ride. For example: I begin to write, but then think of the next line, so I forget the exact phrasing of the first line, man it was so good inside my head too...like I've said before, my pen will never catch up to my racing mind...and I wonder if my life will ever catch up...It's like what I was thinking about on a train ride from Grand Central to New Haven, on a trip back home...that journey is a train from my present to past, where I live now, where I grew up...and my thought-dreams of my future are nowhere between, keeping my mind everywhere except for where I am...again, yearning to be fully present...it's like I'm not even here...was I there the first time we met?...or the last time we met up?...

I guess that's a reason to write. It's a way to be fully present, or at least evidence you were, in a way, once upon a time. The idea of not knowing where life's going is scary for all of us, and so some choose to write as a way to deal with it, maybe it's even a way to direct where life's going, create a path...Again, this is very similar to the writing process, it's an uneasy feeling while writing because you don't always know where it's going, and if you care, then you want it to be good...but you keep punching, those keys, and writing, until your hand hurts...and that's life, I guess, a writing one, at least...

I said to my cat, Bob Dylan, "Man, Bob, my hand hurts from so much writing...for you, it's your paw"...He responded, "Whateva man...eventually you keep writing and get used to it, and move on...it's called the blues"...he's such a poet...

...

I jotted down for later use: Ms. Cameron's chapter "Driving" / exercise p. 196 / relate to your lyric - " Write a lyric on a train, just to stay sane, do so solo in a cab, like the passing street images is your writing lab" / thinking, every line, a step in my right direction...

After writing today, I'm thinking that stealing time to write like this might be better than setting aside huge blocks of time to write...it allows thinking, too much, to get out of the way, there's not enough time to do that...

I'm stealing more time to write, in between terrorist jokes by the kids, and me being scared again to get caught writing...in fact, all this anxiousness may have lead me to being scared of getting caught eating pudding...in this family's fridge there is pudding, the mother had said help yourself, and so I did, but for some reason I'm scared of getting caught eating it...how stupid...but the feelings there...and more than likely will be there for days, years to come...it won't?...

This makes me think back to a previous "Morning Pages" when my confidence wavered. One second I'm singing to myself This Train is Bound for Glory, the next I feel I'm a failure. I know I'm not, so why does that feeling creep in? What the fuck, what...the fuck?...I often sit with constant shifts, and I guess I do the same with confidence...

I stole another (like it's stolen, oh ok) pudding just to stay awake, keep busy. I'll take this risk, which is better than getting caught sleeping on the job...(at a later date relate this to Cameron's p. 205, and being on the right track...and also relate to Paulo Coelho, Zodiac signs, etc...I'm a Leo, of course)...

The toots outside their house wake me up from writing. I had been channeling, forgetting to care, in this moment, I guess, and these toots are almost like a reminder to be scarred, in case I forgot to be...I did for a little bit...

...

It's now 5:47 AM, the next day, and I haven't gone to sleep...I'm trying to make sense of Thursday's "Morning Pages", but I can't organize these thoughts now. My mind just won't work...will it ever again, the way it used to.

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

2010-09-11T16:19:00.000-07:00

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

Wed. Sept. 1, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #22 - Barnes and Noble, Court St., Brooklyn

My chest just caved in...and almost crushed my freckled soul. It's a good thing I wear diapers. On my way to the train, I just dropped this notepad out of my backpack, but didn't realize it for about a block. The backpack felt light and awkward, I looked down, it was unzipped, no yellow pad in there! I almost freaked. I really recently thought about what if I lost this. I already lost my mind, I can't lose this! If I lost this the only thing left to lose would be my virginity - my comedic virginity...imagine that, not once has someone laughed at one of my jokes, whatever...I retraced my steps and there it was, on the ground, in front of my building, face down, ready to be taken by any passerby...then read by them, posted on their blog, and Idea-Awards would start to overflow their dresser. I hope one of them falls off the dresser and hits them on the foot, hard. I've dropped an Idea (award) before, they hurt...

...I honestly would rather have lost my wallet. That's got 3 bucks, crispy ones though, some receipts, a monthly metro card, that would have sucked huge Coronas to lose that, a debit card, whatever, I'd cancel it, get another...but my chest still hurts at the thought of losing this pad. We've discussed this, it's got future Idea-Awards prescribed on it, I know it! Who else can create a metaphor out of the middle urinal, rhetorical. And yes, I believe, you create a couple middle urinal jokes and you become an artist. Todaboconoma! I'm so glad I didn't lose this.

In the margin I jotted: Consider, when this is really a book, obviously on it's way, calling it "Todaboconoma" - explain it's meaning at a later date, and, of course, with my brother's permission, he came up with it...about a decade ago...man I was unstoppable a decade ago. Todaboconoma...

...

I'm stealing time to write before I have to go to a school and clean out a closet, a breakthrough in my career, preparing for school to start up again -- Back to School Kids! Oh, I used to hate that, seeing posters, at stores like Staples, with the "Back to School" signs. There I am just a youngster enjoying the summer hunnies, drinking ice tea, in the hot sun, and you gotta go and put out that sign...I'm sorry, I just blacked out, what'd I just write?...Anyways, times have changed, haven't you heard? I'm looking forward to going back to school, I need money, badly...But, back to closets for now. I'm about to go clean one, and makes me think about metaphorically cleaning out our closets, and well, what if we lost most everything in it. What would we keep if we could truly keep a few, or just one thing in there? This is getting so deep that it's the deep-end and those under 5 feet shall not be reading in these waters -- what?...

Yesterday I jotted down in my Moleskine, I know, impressive, motherfucker's got a Moleskine...I jotted: I think if I had, had! to take just one thing out of this computer, bottle of water, cell phone, book or notepad with all my "Morning Pages", I would choose the pad...

That's exactly what I jotted, 3 dots at the end and all, even more impressive, I don't know...and to think I almost just lost the pad...

Pause and pick up later. I truly have to go clean a closet now. I foreshadow writing overflowing with inspiration afterwards...cleaning gets a man going, it doesn't?...

...

It's later, and that inspiration is anything but flowing, nevermind overflowing. It's like I can't control my mind...when first writing that sentence I wrote: controlling mind my...check the first draft on the legal pad, that's what I wrote then crossed it out, you can still somewhat read it - as proof that I can't control my mind...and that's why...

...I felt a little blue after the closet cleaning at the school - so, I jotted down on the pad: go into seeing all these teachers coming back for another year, already established in their careers, admittance of jealousy...see, I do get jealous, "Not Yoko"...

...This jealousy happened while cleaning out the closet, chatting it up with teachers after not seeing them over the summer, going over the cliche how was your summers, good, good, etc. and whatever...and then them asking my plans...well, I'm subbing again with the hopes to one day make "that" Hall of Fame, and I'll be doing playgroup, some afterschool program, yeah, exciting stuff...Was up high with thoughts of this becoming a book, remember, and then almost immediately thrown to the ground like all my convictions for the future have vanished, and are not possible anymore...

This is why I should write in the morning! - Less distractions, and more time left with the rest of the day to keep my self-esteem up, saying to myself that, yes, I have no career, etc. and whatever, but at least I wrote today...and that's more important than teaching, it's not? I hope Hunter College, the school I'm trying to get into to get my Masters in Education, doesn't read this. But in the end, Daily Nuggets alone should get someone into a place of higher learning, it shouldn't?...

Today's "Morning Pages" was more of a note taking day...I recall Ms. Cameron quoting some dude, later to be found out, saying that taking great notes is the most important thing in writing...I'll look the dude's name up at a later date, he didn't say remembering his name was most important...And, I'll get a career then as well, or the next day...the following day I'm busy, but then maybe the next day I could get one...but...but I did write today, just more so in note form...Todaboconoma, maybe, who knows...forever apologizing for who I am while nobody is asking for apologies.

Jotted in Moleskine after riding home after writing the above: Securities important, ask that lock on that closet...that's why...I'm always clean haven...because acceptance is a haven...

...Although, at the moment, I do have a beard, so maybe I'm straying...and, maybe I should read my own writing more often...it can keep the spirits up...it usually does...whatever for now...until tomorrow.

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

2010-09-11T08:19:00.000-07:00

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

Tues. Aug. 31, 2001 - "Morning Pages" - Day #21 - Some park, name later to be found out, but it's got a waterfountain...

The park's name will be found out later, but I just sat down on this bench after walking 13 blocks, yes I actually counted, I have a block counter I keep latched on my belt next to the wallet chain...so I'm going take a rest before I write with detail. You walk off the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan, take a left, pass Pace University, ignore the Starbucks that's calling your name, Ice Coffee, Ice Coffee, Ice Coffee, and ignore the people passing out flyers, oh how I get pulled in somehow...In a similar situation, I was waiting in line for a comedy show, a black guy that claimed he was a magician pulled out cards, asking for donations for a trick...and I just pulled out my wallet...and that was done without thinking of the obvious question, black magician?...Anyways, you pass all that "stuff" and shortly on your right there is the park I'm in. The park to be named later, remember?...The park with a waterfountain that people pass daily, throw coins in and make wishes, wishes and hopes for the future. These people believe a thrown penny (what happened to a penny saved, a penny earned?) in a waterfountain, a.k.a. a beautiful portal potty, can create something special for their future, but don't believe in themselves. On the other hand, there is me. No, I don't believe the penny/waterfountain deal, but I'm thinking this whole writing thing is very similar. I often end these "Morning Pages" with "who knows, yeah, who knows?" I'm still skeptical about the penny/waterfountain belief, but I also have no clue about this writing and where it will lead -- and neither does that dude, presently bathing in the waterfountain, red shorts, no shirt, lying down, with his hands throwing water through his hair. He truly believes in this waterfountain, and more than likely will steal your penny on his way out. If he didn't steal your penny, more than likely, your wish would have come true. Damn him. The funny thing is, he doesn't even look like a homeless person. He got out and put on his t-shirt that in due time, because he was still wet it took longer than usual, it was revealed as an Obama t-shirt. I wrote that previous sentence then looked back at him and he also has a tote bag with the Obamas on it. Obama took the word "hope" to another level. This guy took it so seriously, he bathes in a public waterfountain (opposed to those private ones with rich people's pennies thrown in), steals your pennies, your hopes, and dries off with an Obama t-shirt. And, I sit here and write about him, in what you may think is in a mocking way, but I think this writing is going to lead me somewhere, give me hope, etc. Who's more insane? Like I said in one of my lyrics - "One day I'll be sober with my insanity"...and I'm thinking this writing is helping me get there?...that guy has a different way of dealing with his insanity, and you've got yours, throwing pennies in a glorified toilet...who's more insane?...

I need another break, a break from this heat, and talk of insanity. Starbucks is still calling my name, so I'm going to pause to seek some cold, seek some caffeine...In Starbucks(land?) Cat Stevens is playing, as he does so often there, and says, "You can do what you want"...Let's not read too much into that...let's not...but I will, I think?...These 3 pages are get easier to write...feels like less work, and more just the simple act of writing, it seems...

Insanity - everybody's insane though, they're not? Look at that guy! In fact, look out for my new infomercial about raising your self-esteem - "Feeling down? Feeling blue? Well, who ain't got the blue(s)? But, we can help raise that self-esteem! Walk down the street. You're walking, and you feel those blues creeping in. They creep in when you don't see them coming, don't they? Yeah they do. Well, I want you to take a look to your left, and look at that guy. If that doesn't work, take a look to your right, and look at that woman. No matter how blue you get, you can always find a more pathetic motherfucker, and you'll think, 'At least I'm not that guy'"...We are working on the pitch...and by we, I mean the voices inside my head...but, the point is...

...Everyone's insane to a certain degree. Why else would people wait in a line that could last 20 plus minutes to get a damn "special" drink called - coffee? And, the word "special" is supposed to be designated for select students that are part of that type of "education", hidden in the corner classroom of a school. Or, why would people do yoga or meditate? I've started reading up on meditation. I raced to the library to get my mediation book. A life can't be picture perfect (nothing's perfect, remember? But, I practiced?) if you're meditating or yoga-ing, etc. We're all insane, we just have different ways of dealing with it.

Yesterday, actually, I just realized it was this morning, hours ago...on my way back from another fruit stand trip, walking back to my apartment in my newly perfected walk, I felt sleep deprived again. I had a good night sleep though, but I think this is deprivation leftovers from the previous years. My mind was racing, still is, and I looked up at the buildings, other apartments, and felt, and said to myself while smirking, but in a scared kind of way, "They don't even look real." You're an insomniac and movies like Shelter's Island and Inception hit you in a different way, maybe a real way - damn Leo Dicaprio!...

I said in another lyric...everything's a lyric...everything's a damn metaphor...I said, "We're all actin', it feels like life is pretend"...So, I'm going to continue pretending, and maybe acting like a writer. I am writing, aren't I, I'm not? I mean, people, like that guy, carry around cameras all day taking pictures of something that already exists, and call it art -- but, I get it. Here I am writing my sob-story, insomniac dreams, etc. and my visions of writing, they've been heard before too, but it's something humane that makes us want to tell it again...

...I write as fast as I can with a petrified look, scared I won't get it all down...

...And, so here's the dismount for today's "Morning Pages"...everyone's insane, I mean, that guy bathes in a fountain, gets out and wears an Obama t-shirt. I think his ass touched your hope, a penny you threw into a fountain, praying for a little something to come your way that might make life a little easier. It's like that train we're waiting for, the train that acts as reassurance for what's coming, or what we want to be coming in our lives. You think, if only that train could come, I would go on with my day - as planned. I think, if only I could sleep, I could go on with my day - as planned. So, the train doesn't come, but you go on with your day and maybe use yoga later to cope, etc. Maybe I don't sleep great tonight, but I must start to go on with my life. Use whatever, wait in that damn Starbucks line for hours if you think it'll help. I mean, I listen to Bob Dylan like he's actually talking to me, he's not? Listen to his Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie and tell me he isn't...and that's what I think, but he's really talking to everyone, himself too. He created a universal feeling, thoughts, in that spoken word...and I guess that's what I'm after with this, and all the writing I do. I'm explaining myself, to myself, with hopes that it leads somewhere, somehow, isn't that a lyric?...Everything's a lyric...everything's a metaphor...everything's a train ride...and everybody's insane...except that guy in the mirror.

...Pete Molinari Concert @ Mercury Lounge, NYC

2010-09-09T08:48:00.000-07:00

We're Not John and Yoko took a break from late-night jam sessions, and instead of performing their own music, headed out Wednesday night to hear some live music, ending up at the Mercury Lounge in Manhattan, on Houston Street, to see Pete Molinari, and the opener Daniel Wayne. We bought the ticket to see Pete, but Daniel went on first, stole the show, and was an incredibly hard act to follow. Originally from Ohio, and now living in Brooklyn, Daniel Wayne is unsigned, but I predict, give him a year, and he'll be a household name. Don't let me down Dan! And, I can call him Dan. We're Not John and Yoko got a chance to meet him after the show, and he was very genuine, appreciating our emphatic compliments of his show. His music consisted of many different elements, the instrumentation blues and country, and his voice, very unique and hard to describe, was haunting - that's a good thing, it's not? Not Yoko said his voice reminded her of R.E.M's Michael Stipe, and I'll add, if Stipe extended his voice to no end, and had a somewhat Johnny Cash swagger. Before the show, I briefly scanned Daniel's MySpace, and Doug DeFalco, a reviewer, wrote, "In Februrary, I saw a singer whose performance stopped me in my tracks like I haven't been in years". We're Not John and Yoko would agree. Go see Daniel Wayne live. And, props to the lead guitarist, Jon Hildenstein, some Rolling Stones, Black Keys type handy work there.

Like I said, Pete Molinari was the reason we headed to The Mercury Lounge. Pete is another Dylan wannabe...but then again, who in their right mind, or left mind, wouldn't, in, some, way, shape or form, want to be, like, Bob Dylan. I write it slowly, and with excessive commas, to emphasize that you seriously have to question your life if you don't want to be like Dylan in some fashion. A gas station attendant has been pumping gas all day, he sniffs his hands, like a kindergartner sniffs Elmers, I guess?, and he thinks, "Wish I were like Dylan, man"...An accountant has been doing taxes all day, pounding computer keys, with one finger-a-blazin' because he hasn't updated the rest of his fingers, he looks at the ceiling, and thinks, "Man, Dylan...yeah, that's who I wish I could be somewhat like, maybe I am"...or, sometimes, maybe not...And now, let's get this straight, among other things!...I'm not talking about being like Dylan as in you showing up in a stranger's yard, chillin' in the rain, not being recognizable as Dylan (apparently this happened?) - whatever...Ok, again, I'm ranting, and this reminds me that during my raving days I thought often, man I wanna be like Dylan, and realized, man I am...I was...This ranting is also hencing that I understand Pete Molinari, remember him?...understand why someone would want to be like Dylan...but, Pete has accomplished enough himself, and that's why we went to see him live...

...Daniel Wayne was a hard act to follow, and it was soon apparent that much of the crowd actually came to see him, the crowd thinning drastically like a freckled soul's hair, I realized. Pete's best CD, in my opinion, is his first one, Walking Off the Map, which was recorded live in Billy Childish's kitchen. He's best when he's solo-acoustic with his Dylan-like attached harmonica. He and his band plugged-in for this show, and the instrumentation was just too loud, drowning out his voice, recalling people's reaction to Dylan's plug-in at the Newport Folk Festival. But no, We're Not John and Yoko aren't going to call Pete a bastard now...I still like him, and Not Yoko told Pete after the show, asking for a picture, that I love him. Yeah, not so sure about that. I was disappointed in the show, would rather see his acoustic set, but I still like him enough to have purchased his new CD, A Train Bound for Glory...you owe me a dollar Pete!

Pete Molinari's MySpace
Daniel Wayne's MySpace

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

2010-09-07T18:48:00.000-07:00

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

Mon. Aug. 30, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #20 - My apartment couch with Bob Dylan staring at me, standing on the coffee table...

If all of us could record, or write down, all of our thoughts, we'd all either be best-sellers, or locked up. Like Dylan said, "If my thought-dreams could be seen, they'd probably put my head in a guillotine" (It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding)). It's 5:42 AM, I don't have to work until 10, I set my alarm for 8, but my cat, Bob Dylan who created those lyrics, he didn't? texted me at 5 AM to hang out. He's Bob, so that's why I walked, felt like sleep walking, from my girlfriend's place to mine, around the block, at 5:30 AM - to kick it with Bob. I'm kicking it with him right now as I try to record all of those thought-dreams. He's now on the floor, spread out, doing the one-tuck. I used to date a girl that did the one-tuck, a different tuck, and I don't want to talk about it. I'm inclined to put myself up on a pedestal, placing myself in the category of those that would become best-sellers - only if I could get it all down on the page, we think. But, with comments like that tuck comment, well, maybe you should get that guillotine prepared. Mind's racing and not sleeping again. I've thought these thoughts before, thinking back to when this sleeping problem was at its worst, wishing I had written when I was in that state of mind -- like now, up at 5:30 AM, and had planned on not getting up until 8 AM - and, no, my cat didn't really text me, he rarely does anymore, maybe subconsciously that's why I couldn't sleep. I guess that's the most frustrating part nowadays when I can't sleep, there seems to be no reason or rhyme (actually it can't stop rhyming, but I'm white, so my delivery is off timing, yeah, ok?) to why I can't sleep. Again, I've been sleeping so much better this past year, can thank "Not Yoko", my girlfriend, bandmate, for that. Will thank later when she wakes up. I've probably slept more hours this year than in the previous 2 years combined, think about that, seriously, stare at that wall for awhile, and think, about, that...So, why lately have I had more of those episodes? Go to bed about 11:30 PM, fall asleep pretty fast, but wake up about 3ish, roll around for half hour or so, get up, read Daily Nuggets, laugh by self, feel better about self (for some reason), then attempt to go back to sleep. That routine has worked over the past year. Fall asleep, but wake hours later, can't fall back asleep so I get up, read Internet for about 20 minutes, and I've had good success after that falling asleep. However, lately I've had more episodes where that formula hasn't worked - so after failed attempts to fall back asleep, I leave my girlfriend, "Not Yoko's" place, and come to mine. It's time to not sugar coat this anymore. After college I graduated with a sleeping disorder (degree), I couldn't fall asleep because I wasn't happy, simple. But, I'm happy now, well, specifically at 6:02 AM this morning I'm not the happiest camper - but, the happiest camper is only one person, hence the "ist" after "happy", meaning there's only one, he's solo in how happy camping makes him, and that leaves us with only one conclusion - dude loves camping way too much, may lead to the guillotine, or at least Starbucksland...

These episodes, leaving my girlfriend's place at insane hours, I kiss her on the cheek, tell her I'm going to try to fall asleep at my place - "See you later, love you too"...only she didn't say it yet? Ok, well that should help my sleeping, thanks - just kidding - she of course said it. I like the whole I love yous, especially when the other person mumbles it, both of us have done it, we mean the words, but for some reason it flows out easier sometimes, maybe at different hours of the day. The mumbled "I love you" becomes more of a "la-u-2" and often the other person can't hear it because you said it too softly, forcing the "what?" and you have to say it again...I'm not necessarily complaining - this is a good thing, it's not?...

...So, we say our goodbyes, see you laters. I unlock her door and take the walk down that hall, it's too familiar a feeling, "Oh, not again, I mean, why? Life would be so much easier if", etc...In the midst of writing this I'm reminded of other "Morning Pages" where I talk about how humans make life so much harder than it has to be. And so, now I think, as I just thought of that cloudy, yet so familiar walk down that hall, that maybe I should do all I can to void out all the crap in my life that I cause, making my own life harder. I'm not exactly sure what those are though, if only the answers were more visible, my cat, Bob Dylan, said they're blowing in the wind, but he just farted and the wind reeks and I don't feel like trying to breathe in these damn answers to all life's questions at 6ish AM. Maybe the answer is my diet, some may say it's a lack of career and its search, but they don't know, they do? Maybe it's, I've thought before, it could be the coffee, my vice, Love it! But generally I have one cup a day, although yesterday had 2, one at 7 PM. This one cup a day is unlike before when my sleeping problem was at its worst. I'd get up, after another failed sleeping performance, drink coffee all day, mixed with beer at times, and stay up until I absolutely had to pass out. But, unlike then, I am now writing down these thought-dreams, more than likely leading toward a best-seller, or at least another Idea-Award. And as I type, Blowin' in the Wind plays (no, seriously, it is). I remember when Obama won, I played that song the day after the election - it sounded like a fucking victory song...I'm sick of wondering what if - oh what if I had written all those days I couldn't sleep, and of course, thinking only if I could sleep, etc. I could write a book about all that I wish I had done. But, my blog is presently getting fuller these days - "That's what she said, " said Michael Scott from The Office, best joke ever, either that, or my joke about when teachers tell a class to turn to p. 69, killing in middle schools across America, and these kids don't even understand what they'll laughing at...I wish I had done...there's going to be more moments in my life where I reflect and wish I had done things differently, we all will...as I finish another "Morning Pages", take "that" breath, and realize this has to be the answer. Man, I love hanging out with Bob, he's got some of the answers, paw lick. Text me anytime at 5 AM Bob, Bobster, Bobby D, Bob-ba, etc. I will see you on tour, We're Not John and Yoko touring with Bobby D and the Bow-Ties soon!...And so, I'll leave myself, not you (whatever), with this...

...Just do it, it's not always, or usually never, that easy, but may I wish it were, for now will pretend it is...for I just did it - finishing at 6:28 AM. While others sleep, I will sleep when I'm dead, apparently whether I choose to or not, etc...who knows. Not always a question.

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

2010-09-05T10:53:00.000-07:00

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

Sun. Aug. 29, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #19 - Barnes and Noble, Park Slope, Brooklyn

I started today's journey, the quest to full-fill today's "Morning Pages" requirement, by getting a coffee. I didn't take a sip until I got to the train platform, and put on my headphones so I didn't have to hear everyone else's bullshit tune. "Finally," said the coffee, as I took a sip, tasted it, then closed my eyes, tilting my head slightly up and back, like all my problems have now been solved from a sip of coffee. Some would argue that an insomniac drinking coffee adds to the problem -- but fuck those people. However, many people are part of this scene every morning, you know, that commercial, don't remember the company name, no advertisements here, but the - "don't talk to me before I take my first sip of coffee in the morning"...I'll add to that, for you specifically, you don't talk to me before, and after, my first sip of coffee. I did this this (the double this) morning, as I mentioned, taking that first sip -- like that sip did anything, but for some reason it provides a solace. It reminds me again of the anxiety of waiting for the train. It's like seeing that train coming is reassurance for what's coming, or what we want to be coming, in our lives...the train's here, I can breathe, I've sipped my first sip of coffee, I can breathe -- but unlike that commercial, I still don't want you to talk to me...And, I know you begged to talk to me - because I scream great conversation, I don't?, you didn't? Phone click - forget to check time, but few, I'm relieved...and now can move on with my day...and it is my day...I own it...

In the margin I jotted: William Nickelson? Secret Intensity of Everyday Life in fiction bookcase staring at my left ear, I've got an attractive left ear, the right, sub-par, saving up for surgery...but, Garrett...you don't need, but, but, fuck you...

Yup, that's what I wrote in the margin, and William Nickelson is followed by a question mark because I couldn't see the name on that book 100 percent...we'll find out at a later date if he is the author...

I don't remember this crap as a kid, this quest to relieve anxiety with things that don't relieve anything (shit), things that more than likely add to the anxiety...maybe that's because my childhood was so easy, picture perfect, and that's not because my pictures were perfect, so handsome, etc., stop the compliments (your giving yourself, Garrett)...

In the margins I jotted again: Maybe we should still have recess for real - some dodge ball would provide an opportunity to hit that Dick, you know, from accounting, hitting him in the face could make a day go by more smoothly...maybe more so than coffee, maybe...

I think this plays into the reason we, or maybe I'm the only one momma!...reason we, or I have a feeling that there's always something greater to be doing than what I'm presently doing - that's often our mind frame, but might be furthest from the truth. I have a vision for my future, I'm sure you do too - but your vision for your future sucks!...No, but, you have one for yourself (it still sucks!), but all this anxiety doesn't allow us to live in the present, leading to more anxiety and crap (shit) like fights with loved ones for no reason, or leads to, possibly, sleeping problems, etc, that leads to writing like this, etc. I guess that's part of what this writing is - simply living in the moment, and of course, as I stare at the ceiling like the answers to my my unknown future are up there. God just threw up his hands like, "Dude, I have got no clue"...Fist pound with God, yeah me too, me too...

...

I need an endless supply of pillows, one for each of my thoughts...to take a nap on...

...

I can't figure out how to conclude this yet...but why do we do this to ourselves? When I do figure out how to conclude, I will blog it for sure...and then solve the Middle East conflicts, next on my list. My bones are rattling to finish this "Morning Pages". I want to write, be a writer, but often while doing it, I feel shaky, maybe from lack of sleep, maybe from today not eating much and drinking that coffee...maybes piling up, overflowing, making me question, do I really have a college degree? Some say, you never know, you never know - then what's my degree about?...ok, maybe you're right - I don't know...anxiety piling up, making me lose focus, instead of writing and concentrating, I'm writing about losing concentration, and now I get ornery and cynical of others, like...fuck that guy in an Armani T-shirt, pansy!...What's the point of putting my energy into that?...other than creating this great writing, I agree, I don't?...you're right again...somewhat channeling...

...That guy, yeah, "that guy", really just sat down next to me, making me truly believe there is some place more important to be...like a place where "that guy" is not, is not sitting across from me. I'm inclined to put the pen down (like a Jay-Z, Brett Favre retirement!) and hand this pad over to "that guy". It would be hilarious, but "it" isn't possible - for I am insane, but not that insane yet, sounding much like The White Stripes' tune I'm Lonely (But I Ain't That Lonely Yet)...He got up, but his hat rests upon the table in front of this pad, I can see the sweat stains. Out of the corner of my right eye I see him creeping back, but then he walks away again for some reason I never thought I'd care to know. How long do I have to sit here before I can get up without it seeming he's the reason I'm getting up?...freakin' Dick, he's worse than the dude with the Armani T-shirt, I may challenge him to that game of dodge ball, thrown right in the face, maybe crotch. If only there were a day when I could do what I want to do without letting others, like "that guy", sway me off my path...creating more anxiety...actually...

...Hey, as I wrote those last few sentences, he had gotten up and didn't sway me off my path, he did?

Other legends, like the ones that clothe the Barnes and Noble cafe wallpaper, Whitman, Melville, Twain, some woman named Joyce, etc. appear to have done this, this being eventually not allowing others to sway them off their path...but I should give myself some credit, they didn't have to deal with "that guy" and the dick with the Armani T-shirt.

...Anyways, yeah, anyways...I'm surrounded by books, those legend's books, and I think of something else I hadn't written: Hide my selves in the aisles of bookshelves...I guess this refers to humans reading as a way to find themselves, or create another self.

Again, I jotted down in the margin: I refuse to think books are ever purely entertainment, I'm sure the people that wrote them didn't write them for your entertainment purposes no matter how many times somebody accepts an award and looks at the fans and says, "I did this for you"...people read books for similar reasons why people write them, like a form of meditation. I guess it's not accepting that this is all that life has to offer, so we all cope in different ways, some write the books, others read them, despite people saying this is a nation that doesn't read anymore, there is a lot of people here, they must have heard half of We're Not John and Yoko would be writing here today, must have...so, for a dismount, and in closing...if you've got to seek that coffee sip before you have the forever uninteresting conversation with that guy from accounting, his name's conveniently, Dick, take that sip...but remember...don't talk to me...and a reminder to myself...I started this journey with the coffee sip, then proceeded to Barnes and Noble. In-between I got a bloody nose, reminding me that I truly am like those legends, they too headed out for some writing...later to find themselves in a McDonald's bathroom with a bloody nose, and then wrote about it, they didn't?

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

2010-09-04T20:37:00.000-07:00

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

Sat. Aug. 28, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #18 - Again, Cocoa Bar, Park Slope, Brooklyn, but let me explain...

Make sure I place my Moleskine in a viewable position so the other cafe customers know I'm serious about writing. "He's got his laptop, but it's not a Mac...he is drinking coffee, but isn't wearing Converse...he does have a novel, but he won't understand it, he's not wearing tight jeans, he's wearing Nike sandals for God's sake"..."Yeah, but look"..."Oh, he just pulled out...his Moleskine...he can join our club of those that seek free Wifi like it's fresher oxygen than what the Park Slope trees provide...breathe it in people, breathe it in"...

...I leave the cafe, discouraged...you'll find out later...

...

I don't want to write right now. I hadn't eaten all day, but just ate 2 slices of Bay Ridge pizza, the most generic pizza of all time, it's actually so generic that it's unique - "Try Our Pizza...It's So Generic, It's Unique!"...I've got the woman blues and my stomach's in knots. I'm trying to comprehend the incomprehensible, and don't you hate when writing is like this? Everything's a metaphor...and if you know me well, you know metaphors make me nauseous...Love and Basketball is on the TV and I assume Omar Epps knows what I'm talking about, we speak a similar language, we don't? I lost his cell number, had written it on that glow stick I lost, remember?...Otherwise I'd call him for advice on what to do with this relationship, I mean band, I'm in. We're Not John and Yoko are having difficulties again, and today, more than ever, it feels like the band could be ending. It's not what I want, it's not what either of us want.

I'm making another attempt at using our band as a metaphor for what's going on in a real relationship, I'm not? The band is real too, it's not? I think I'll go over to the studio (apartment) and see if we can jam it out, again.

We've started to play, a tune we've played a million times over, but something feels off - maybe because I didn't sleep much again last night - but then again that's an ever-more constant theme so feeling off is feeling normal, lately...whatever that means. This band metaphor is making me more nauseous - which fits the stereotype of writers torturing themselves, forget writers, humans do that, then they read and hear stories of other humans torturing themselves, and call it entertainment. I guess it's similar to relationships, I mean band practice. The band fights, it quarrels, bru-ha-has, etc. It seems to make life so much harder than it has to be. Why can't she just play my pace? She snaps back - why can't he put more time into practice, etc.? It shapes into a sports metaphor too, a sparring match that's got no harmony. She's punching too low, creating a jockstrap to spontaneity, and wants to plan everything. He's punching, but not...

...I just vomited on the legal pad, that's what I write on, and it should be illegal to write in all metaphors like this. Who invented metaphors? Just say what you damn mean, or feel, you know like a Mitch Albom novel, without the metaphors, or the Mitch Albom. And, there lies the problem. I don't know. I come up with one scenario, it makes complete sense on my way over to band practice, "Metaphoring Again", which is what I'd like to call our album...but no...

...We now plug in, something that erupts her moral high horse, she always wanted a pony and will have to settle for that...we plug in and what made sense on the way over just sounds like noise now...I want to create something that's got soul (insert "Soul on Ground" lyrics at later date)...and believe me, we do butt heads, but when we're in harmony, well, hence, We're Not John and Yoko, the metaphor's continuing - so is life - and that equals the overriding theme - confusion. And, we realize - might as be confuse together...maybe, who knows, who knows.

In a margin I jotted down: Because when it's good it's oh so good (Ben Harper lyric), and that's why it hurts so bad because it is that good, and the thought of it ending feels like a part of you is dying.

And here are those "Soul on the Ground" lyrics I promised to post, written, or should I say, created, by "Not Yoko":

Recorder on
Face to the corner
Hat on the floor
Guitar strapped 'round
Suit wrinkled
Cigarette lit
Just had that numbered course meal
But in my stomach I feel an empty pit
Yeah, that hat
It lays upon the ground
Coverin' my soul
They won't understand this sound
But Ima gonna rock-this-role
I guess as the story's told
The story's sold
There's a price for true freedom
And ain't a soul alive not paying its toll.

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

2010-09-04T16:28:00.001-07:00

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

Fri. Aug. 27, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #17 - Bay Ridge between 84th/85th St./Fort Hamilton, a bench.

I sit down on the bench to get comfortable, surrounded by empty benches, except across and through bushes a husband and wife (as they appear to be) sit with a baby carriage, and their two boys (as they appear to be) are playing catch with an orange squid-like ball. The family appears to be comfortable, all accepting their roles, in this family, and within this stage of life. And of course, as the saying goes, everything isn't the way it appears to be, it is? I appear to be a stunning red headed 20-something that's simply enjoying a summer day with a pen and pad on a park bench, or is this a rotunda? Now, with looks, most people are what they appear to be. Yes, I am this stunning. I looked at myself for hours in the bathroom mirror this morning, and would have continued for hours to come, but my brother (not as stunning) had to take, what he later titled, "The biggest shit of his life"...

I take out my headphones with the hopes to become more comfortable. I may appear to be comfortable, but underneath this navy blue-T, is a sweater, cut-off style, but some may think it appears as an animal of some kind growing out my chest, but no, it's really just hair. It keeps me warm when it gets cold at night, and makes me sweat when simply walking down the street going to the deli for that pound of ham, half pound American cheese, my go-to sandwich choice -- leaving sweat stains in random spots. A man works out, and he usually sweats under his pits. I walk down the street and sweat in blotches, one on the right side of my abs (of steal), another on my back near the back-hair-trail to my ass. Walking down the street sweating isn't comfortable, it is? But, since I appear so stunning, and so smooth with my new and perfected walk, they, and by they I mean black people, and by black people, I mean everyone that isn't white...they don't see me sweat, never let 'em, they say. Underneath this navy blue-T is that animal growing out my chest, under that is a hurt soul of a man that's freckled and still is morning the loss of his glow stick, a soul can be freckled? Another great example being - a Speedo appears good on you Mista when trying it on in the clothing store, those mirrors are proof magic exists, they aren't?

That family's now playing keep away of some kind...the annoying kind from my benches point of view. The bird shit lounging on the bench next to me agrees.

I guess I bring up "what appears" and what's comfortable because I have been substitute teaching for a decade. I graduated college in May 2005, and have been subbing since, so the Math is a little off, but my point couldn't be more on, it could? It may appear that I'm comfortable just subbing my life away, but the truth is that I just feel I can reach the children, they're tomorrow's leaders, you know, from the subbing position better rather than being the "real" teacher, yes quotes. Of course sarcasm, and the real truth is that I am definitely not comfortable, nor did I, or do I, plan on subbing for a real decade. That would be doing what that dick over there said I was doing, "You're throwing your education away". Well, I've observed and learned that cliche saying of "everything's not the way it appears". And, well, I may appear I'm settling for this life, career (lack of) I have, don't have, etc. and whatever...While there are others that have careers, and appear to be using that education to the fullest, but on the insides they are missing something way worse than a glow stick...

...I may have appeared to have a point, or was going somewhere with that. I would be much more comfortable right now, and eventually with the idea that people will read this, if I did have that point, or knowledge of where this writing was going. Maybe that is the point. Like I had known or planned to be on this Bay Ridge bench at this point in my life. I'm sure you didn't have a clue you'd be where you are at this point in your life. I'm trying to be done caring about what I may appear as to other people. Anyways, I guess that's selfish of me for even thinking people give a shit about where I'm going. I'm trying to be done with just being comfortable. Writing, in particular, at this moment, is far from comfortable. I just ate lunch, but my stomach's turning, my arms shaking somewhat, my face cringing. I don't know how to wrap all this up and it leaves me nauseous. I guess all I can do is keep writing. Hey, I look at Daily Nuggets and it appears that the writing is piling up. It makes me feel good to see that. I feel like I'm heading somewhere with this, but obviously don't know exactly where. That's wrapped enough for now, but let me leave with this...Ask my brother about "what appears"...he thought he had a date with this hot chick...what appeared to be one...and that's offensive, not because I called her a chick, but because she was not what she appeared to be...

...So, even to oneself things aren't always as they appear...and the next time you think you're heading nowhere, think of this writing and my brother's story...he appears to be over it, but...who knows, who knows?

And in closing, I had written in one of the margins after hearing my brother's story: And that's why I like the "real" girls...comfort isn't always stagnation, sometimes it's just Dockers slacks.

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

2010-09-04T04:55:00.000-07:00

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

Thurs. Aug. 26, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #16 - Deli next to Flying Saucer Cafe, Atlantic Ave., Brooklyn

The following post, after typing up, made me depressed, I didn't like it, thought it was bad writing. My instinct was to not post it and rewrite it, but I will play along with this "Morning Pages" exercise and convince myself that writing like this is necessary in order to write better. I probably shouldn't have even told you that and just posted it...but I did, so what now?...enjoy, but please come back to read future ones, they will be better...todaboconoma.

...

I'm in the deli next door to the Flying Saucer Cafe that I wrote in for a previous "Morning Pages". I had gone into the Flying Saucer, but the line was too long. How long is too long? As long as a string. I loved when teachers said that when answering a student's question about how long a paper had to be - "As long as a string". But forget those bastards, let's move on to other ones. I've done this before too, but there are others that would rather wait in that long line, or not get their morning coffee, than go to this next door deli and get a just as good coffee - and cheaper. I clicked my phone again. I'm watching after kids again. I've got 20 minutes before I have to walk over to their house.

But, back to those bastards. They walk by this deli everyday before work, pass it after seeing a clear sign, "Regular Ice Coffee 99 Cents". The Flying Saucer's coffee approaches 3 bucks. Yes, it does have a better environment, a feel of sophistication, a word I still struggle to spell. I think I got it this time, and I'm writing in the deli! with the pizza place like booths. I guess it's not any news that we Americans often pass, or ignore, better deals for what seems to be better quality, in this case, coffee. I'm not a coffee snob - like that guy over there obviously is. Clicked the phone. I've got about 13 minutes and 23, 22, 20...seconds...12 minutes before the walk. We buy the more expensive coffee because the cafe looks more sophisticated than the deli, even though we are purchasing to-go. Later in the day we complain about the economy, and how it's tough-times. The next day we pass that deli, pass that sale, and buy the cafe's coffee. Then the next day we write "Morning Pages" about not taking advantage of sales, etc. -- because yes, I've passed this deli and chose the cafe too. My excuse is that it's because I wanted to write. But does the writer in the cafe sipping his more expensive coffee lose that sophistication, and ability to write, when deciding to go with the deli today? Apparently not because that's what I did and this is brilliant stuff, I agree. And, brilliant, a word I had had (the double had) trouble spelling in the cafe, but now got it correct in the deli, amazing. By the way, can the word "stuff" proceed the word "brilliant" in a sentence. Let me drop the pen, walk over to the cafe, and ask someone sipping the more expensive coffee.

...

Jotted down: At a concert, I was about to mock myself for paying 12 bucks for a margarita, the size of a pee cup you receive a the doc, but was distracted by a dude wearing a Cold Play shirt...

...

And so, the sitting isn't worth talking about, just a reflection of life going exactly how I planned. Afterwords though, We're Not John and Yoko (my girlfriend and I) went to a concert at the South Street Seaport in Manhattan featuring John Cleary and then the new sensation Trombone Shorty...At present we are riding the train home, phone click, it's 11:44 PM and I'm racing to get today's "Morning Pages" done, yeah quotes still needed, whatever. Let's admit they have turned into, or always were, "Today's Pages", and that's fine with me as long as I get them done. The featuring artists were a suggestion by my father who had seen them at the New Orleans Jazz Festival, quote, "Something you can not miss, " said John Kennedy, my father. Phone click. 11:46 PM...still racing against time. Well, we left the concert early, so you may assume I won't highly praise. I'm not much of a reviewer, it's so hard to not sound cliche, forced and cynical. But here we, I, go...It was good, but not worth 40 bucks a ticket...which obviously leads to 80 a ticket because each person is going to drop at least 40 on booze, damn 12 dollar margaritas, but they were so good...phone click...11:49, Yvette's (Not Yoko) sleeping. John Cleary was cool. I think I asked my dad this, but is he the one singing in the movie Major League? I think he said no, but a comparison nonetheless. To me the highlight of the show was Trombone Shorty's guitarist. Shorty's band has a rock element that I didn't expect and was cool - but he lost me when he sang the Black Eyed Peas song "Let's Get It Started". And in closing, after Shorty said let's get it started, We're Not John and Yoko said, let's not, and go home, our feet killing us, sorry Dad! I would recommend seeing Cleary and Trombone Shorty though, but not for 40 bucks, really 80 bucks...and hey, Garrett, let's get it started with these "Morning Pages" a little earlier tomorrow, say, in the morning.

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

2010-09-03T07:52:00.000-07:00

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

Aug. 25, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #15 - Miro Cafe, off Prince St. Stop, Manhattan

I've talked about taking a leap of faith, and I'm going to talk about it again...now...Taking a leap of faith is similar to taking a dump in a public bathroom - sometimes your life, or nature, just calls for it, maybe even demands it. Revelations can often come when visiting the Jon (John?), and I've joked before, but this ain't no joke (a good lyric) - I think if, say, I'm just pulling a name out of thin air, I probably have never mentioned this man before, I just happened to name my cat after him, say, um...Bob Dylan...say it was revealed he wrote most of his songs on the toilet then writers across the nation, probably world, would take their pens and pads into the lavatory, put on some Dylan, or Ray Lamontagne, like I did a couple days ago while writing on the toilet, toilet writing, sweeping Brooklyn!...people across the world would start writing on toilets, and think, "Boy, I really am so much like Dylan, or no, it's time I can call him Bob...because we're so much alike, we aren't?"...This joke, but non-joke, came from me mocking people that call themselves Dylanologists (ridiculous, it's not?), and that made me come up with the lyric I wrote in my song And Let the Blues, aka Footprintin' by the underground:

...And let me be patient, but not your patient

For I'm the one supposedly deliverin' the medicine

And let Kevin Bacon become the symbol - we are one - or don't

And let an overanalyzed artist's toilet become a monument

Or don't, if you want to be that way

And let a lyric be placed out of place

For a metaphor for what we've all felt before...

I digress, which I still don't know what that is, but I'm still pretty sure I just did it, amazing how we can not know what we're doing, but simultaneously be doing what we don't think we know, confusing - another life metaphor, and in case you find yourself confused when reading my writing, I will claim it was intentional and a metaphor for life...Life, the board game, another game I'd kick your cheeks in, I wouldn't? I have, and am, and will continue to...forever more...Writing can be this way, and in a way, every time somebody writes, they are taking a leap of faith. We will tie all of this, leaps of faith, Bob Dylan, writing...and toilets, together shortly...but first, peep this (really?)...yes, I really said/wrote that, so shut yo mouth...and peep...

...Leaps of faith, like writing, or starting to write, is so difficult for so many of us, but then people will take all kinds of drugs, feed themselves food that's essentially poison, yet can't take that leap of faith and put a damn pen to a pad. Seinfeld brought this up before in a way too, his example being how humans are so afraid of that date stamped on a milk carton. Humans will have unprotected sex, laugh about it the next day while watching ESPN Classics with Magic Johnson playing the Celtics in the NBA Finals, bleeding. But, when it comes to writing that cover letter for a job we really want, well, we torture ourselves, staring at the blank page like it's an impossible defense to score on...sports metaphors, you've gotta love them, you don't?...I've tortured myself for years, like I said, tip-toeing, not wanting to be noticed - so far, so successful. And the thing is, if you didn't know, most of the things we choose to do, like the food we eat, people we sleep with, etc. are leaps of faith that can so often hurt us. The others, the leaps of faith we choose not to do, like writing, or going for that job, going back to school, etc., are leaps of faith that more than likely would help us. We may not get that job, my writing may not get noticed, but I guess I've learned that while others, like me, are trying not to get noticed, others were trying to get noticed -- but then others were busy writing - and I mentioned to myself in a previous "Morning Pages" that writing has to be the most important thing...In my song (song, as if I actually sing) Resonate I wrote:

...I met a songwriter today

And he was giving off vibes of somebody that had something to say

I met a songwriter today

And for today, he uses his writing like others pray...

...Writing like others pray - a leap of faith...and this doesn't have to be religious faith, and believe me, it's not, it is?...I write this and try to conclude, dismount with plans to take leaps of faith. I guess a good way to plan future ones is to realize ones you've already taken. A very recent leap was wearing that purple, "The Black Dog", t-shirt, that was obviously religious though, it wasn't? Another that comes to mind is being friends with this dude, some call him Nate the Great (Nate the Pretty Good, Average, whatever). I met him in 3rd grade and we've been friends since. I think we're in like 22nd grade, 21st grade? now. They blend together once you graduate college, we're all in the same grade, and tell that to the prick over there with the expensive suit and sunglasses on during a cloudy/rainy day (tell him!)...Being friends with Nate this long has been constant faith-leaps. Possibly my greatest leap so far has been auditioning for stand-up comedy at The Laugh Factory, NYC, now I think it's Times Square Comedy, whatever...I opened with, "I think we all agree, yeah, I do...I think we all agree it's time Cindy Crawford gets rid of her mole"...I didn't get the gig, but there are no scars left, or any worse left than the ones that could be created from that outdated milk carton, or the scare left by your, "I don't even remember her name" story you tell your friends while watching Magic Johnson's press conference about him having HIV. No, the stand-up comedy leap of faith, although was during my worst stages of insomnia, I wasn't even nervous - for I wasn't even there (mentally), and I am only starting to comprehend that I actually did that...I had found the listing for auditions on Craigslist. I'm sure you could find many leaps of faith on there, leaving you with a "casual encounters" scar. The guy I called, I guess, a talent scout, asked where I had performed before. I told him it was my first time, not like "it's my first time" like that girl from the Girls Gone Wild commercial...Anyways, often first times, whether doing comedy, or whatever comes to your mind, is the toughest time. Like writing, it's that starting point - everything is a leap of faith. Much of life is a leap -- so here I am in this cafe, again, writing, and almost completing today's "Morning Pages"...I started today with a leap, taking a dump on a public toilet. I will end with writing, like so often, so poetically, by telling you to take your leaps. Try the public toilet idea, that's leap one, and may the rest of today, and your days, be fill with faith-leaps. Flush, metaphorically, that fear to begin something.

...

Later in the day I jotted down: Imagine years down the road, teaching writing...student says I haven't been published so why listen to me...I say that that's not the point, maybe a point, but not the point...draw points, connecting them to one point, the first being writing, and attach others, leaps and goals, to it...and I have been published...class dismissed.

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

2010-09-03T05:59:00.000-07:00

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

Tues. Aug. 24, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #14 - Sitting again, Cobble Hill Brooklyn

Again, I'm writing in order to stay awake. The other day, I think it was actually yesterday, how the memory goes, fails us...fuck you memory, the part of the brain, not that game that I'd kick your ass in, I wouldn't?...Yesterday was the day I was scared to get caught writing while watching after kids. Getting caught writing isn't anything bad, there's just something inside of me, or maybe all of us, that's paranoid. However, getting caught sleeping on the job, well, not so good. Another however though...however, I dare you to catch me sleeping. The father of the kids I'm looking after today will be home in about 1 hour. I'm going to have a hard time making it awake. So, again, I'm writing this to stay awake. I've said that this past year I have slept much better than the previous 4 years, but for some reason lately, the last month or so, I haven't been sleeping great, last night being of of those bad nights. Sleeping and my problems with it, was a great writing topic to choose, good going Garrett. It's acting like a good cup of coffee right now. Obviously I'm being sarcastic because coffee would inspire much better writing than this. Let's change topics and see if it actually makes a difference.

...

Somebody mentioned skinny jeans, which made me announce, "I'm not sure if I'm mentally prepared yet to wear skinny jeans...but I think we all agree that physically I am"...But, apparently this morning I thought I was prepared mentally and physically to rock this new purple, "The Black Dog", t-shirt my mom(s) got me. All the Barney jokes are hilarious and should be written down and brought to the Improv to be performed. Yes, it's purple, another good choice by a Kennedy family member, thanks mom(s). My girlfriend said not many guys can pull off wearing a purple shirt, and I'm not one of those guys. So, I counter punched, saying that not many girls can pull off being a bitch, and she's not one of them. Should I apologize just in case? Stella got her groove back (or so see thinks) which means she must have lost it. Well, "Not Yoko" never lost her sense of humor which means she doesn't have to look for it, and I shouldn't have to apologize, love you too. She knows I would never really call her that, she doesn't? This is where changing topics has lead me, another, I said, another good decision.

In the margins I wrote: Good decisions are good, but bad decisions make you learn, and in due time give you the ability to make better decisions. Often there are multiple good decisions to be made. The more you live, the more your ability to make the better decision improves...and of course...it doesn't?

I'm struggling right now, as you know, with this writing, and to stay awake. It truly is an every other day struggle (Biggie Smalls y'all). To help with this writing I take a look in my Moleskine, endless ideas in there, many of which, I do agree, will one day win Idea-Awards, they won't? Written inside there is a reminder to start practicing bookjacket pictures (give a few examples at later date)...Inside there is also some knowledge, telling me that I should learn to read/write standing up because it's so hard to get all of this down without falling asleep, especially as an insomniac, falling asleep when I don't want to, of course. Then below that piece (of shit) knowledge I've written:

Writing is dreaming,
Dreaming is writing,
Insomnia isn't sleeping,
So in order for an insomniac to dream,
He must write...

Take a nap Garrett...oh, ok...never considered that option...forever thanks...

...I put the Moleskine away - because it feels like I'm cheating - but I guess I've realized there really is no cheating with writing...you either do it, or don't. period...

The kids come into the kitchen, I hide the writing. I just don't feel like answering questions about what I'm writing - because really, what do you call this?...this one certainly isn't comedy, it feels more like tragedy, I'm writing tragedies, I'm not? No, I'm not...oh, yeah, back to my idea from before - these are insomniac dreams, ok, I'll go with that. I've heard the market's in huge demand for stories like that. If I sound discouraged, I am, but not because today's writing might not amount to my best, but more so because my head seriously hurts due to last night's horrible sleep. What's discouraging is that I've been writing a lot lately, as all of you know, you read my blog (this crap) all the time. It's almost like since I've been writing more, I've been sleeping less. This makes no sense because to see this writing piling up on my blog is encouraging...pause...take a break to stay awake...be back in 5...

Ended up taking a peach break. This more than likely will be as exciting news for the reader as it was for me. Recently I just enjoyed my first peach. I kind of have a phobia about trying new food, yes, at some point in my life I was scared to try a peach - so, if you don't try a peach at an early age, chances are you will forget people actually eat those and you won't think to eat one until much later in life. I purchased a bag of peaches last week, I recall texting my girlfriend, "I'm enjoying my first self-picked fresh peach." I was excited, and had sticky fingers. And yes, I was wondering where Sticky Fingaz, the rapper, was too. Who knows, yeah...However, I don't think I picked good ones, well, or just bit into one too soon. I bit into one and said, "Oh, this is hard", and of course, Michael Scott from the Office said, "That's what she said"...My brother heard what had happened and said, "Quick, get the peach-tape, where's the damn peach-tape?". Apparently there's tape to replace a bite for a peach not ripe yet, place it over the bite, wait a day, try a bite again - Peach-Tape. Oh, and of course I'm thinking this whole discovery of the peach-tape is also discovering another useful metaphor. Like the peach-tape fixing up a too-soon-bitten peach, well, I'm going to go to Staples and get some writing-tape, and tape up this writing. But for now, I still haven't fallen asleep. Writing did its job for today. It kept me awake. Not quite as funny as the Barney jokes earlier, but those saying my writing didn't keep them awake, well, go to Staples and purchase some imagination-tape - for you bit into that part of your brain way too soon - not even close to being ripe.

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

2010-08-31T14:59:00.000-07:00

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

Mon. Aug. 23, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #13 - A house I'm sitting at, Pacific Street, Brooklyn

The kids, not mine, I haven't gone down "that" avenue yet, are playing Beatles Rock Band. I'm stealing time to write. Writing in front of people is something new for me. Maybe it's a newfound confidence, or determination to full-fill this "Morning Pages" requirement -- or maybe it's a leap of faith - because the kids haven't noticed I'm writing and I'm hoping they don't. It's funny in life, when you're doing what you want in life, like writing, but don't want others to notice. It's like I'd like to be a writer, but am tip-toeing through life hoping nobody notices.

Head rush - as I stretched, maybe it's the heat, maybe still related to lack of sleep -- but I slept well last night yet still feel like I'm sleep walking, presently sleep-writing, I guess. Anxious again with constant shifts, trying to get comfortable on this lime green couch -- gotta question the decision making by the parents on that one. Yeah, anxious again, or maybe it's because today my back hurts, gotta start stretching better before I choose to run at that expensive gym. That's why I was stretching in the first place and got that head rush. Also, I might be uncomfortable and anxious because I'm hoping the mother of the kids I'm looking after doesn't walk in and see me writing, tip-toeing, tip-toeing. How ridiculous, knowing she's a writer herself, the kid's safety secured. They're playing Beatles Rock Band too. Music can't get much safer than that. Where's the Wu-Tang version for Rock Band, or Public Enemy. The kids could being singing "Fuck the Police"...yeah, the mother's a writer, but probably doesn't want, and certainly didn't picture, the sitter writing that. Or, maybe the writer in her envisioned this very setting...below, her envisioning...and ramblin', aren't we all, mama?...

...kids singing Beatles, sitter on couch...yeah, I know it's lime green and I regret the decision, but lime couches, I've heard, ignite the imagination...for example, I'm guessing the sitter, while the kids Rock Out, will be writing about Public Enemy...I love their song "Fuck the Police"...which reminds me - fuck the police...they searched my bag on my way home yesterday...I saw it coming too as I walked down the stairs, their plastic folding table stared back at me...I saw the cops, you have too...and then, you make eye-contact and you start to think you did something wrong...so, you look away quickly so they don't think you did something...but then that makes you look suspicious...and they ask, "Ma'am, could we check your bag, please?"...Fuck the police...

With a mouth like that, I shouldn't worry about her catching me writing...she might understand, right?...

That above situation feels similar to mine. I know I'm doing nothing wrong, writing while the kids Rock Out, playing Rock Band, but there's something inside me not allowing me to relax. Again, it could be my lack of sleep over the past 4 plus years. Maybe it's my diet and lack of nutrition. Maybe it's back to my insecurity of letting people see me write. All these maybes, they all probably add up to my anxiousness and reason for feeling uncomfortable. Uncomfortable - yeah, I've joked before that I always feel uncomfortable. Not feeling uncomfortable actually makes me feel uncomfortable, resulting in feeling more uncomfortable, and no, there's no case of two negatives equaling a positive here. The kid's still haven't noticed I'm writing. They're either in the zone of Rocking Out (isn't it hard to to that when playing The Beatles?), or they couldn't care less about my existence. Kids can often give you this feeling. I mean, shit, I just slightly (yes, slightly) picked my nose and nobody noticed - quite an accomplishment, another addition to my resume that at this point is overflowing with accolades, it's not? I mean, I'm babysitting during the day at 28, so my plan for life must becoming to fruition ("tion", a suffix denoting action of some kind, add to "fruit", I must be throwing fruit or something, yeah, or something...you are what you throw, you're not?...)...

...I like what I'm getting at here...not in life, but with this writing. I'm going to move to the kitchen table to get more comfortable - which like I said, probably will make me feel more uncomfortable, trying to write and finish faster, hoping the mother doesn't see me in the other room writing, as maybe she'd see it as me not paying attention to the kids...let's see what happens...todaboconoma...

...The kids still haven't noticed I've moved my seat and I'm writing. I'm urged to check my phone, I cringe, but don't check. I'm just curious what time it is to see if it's close to the time the mother would be arriving home...but I refuse the urge. What an accomplishment (another one!) especially for someone from my generation. My generation -- This reminds me of The New York Times Magazine article I started reading earlier today when the kids were reading their summer required reading, waiting for friends to arrive. The article, What Is It About 20-Somethings? written by Robin Marantz Henig, is about how more and more 20-somethings are taking longer to grow up, they move back in with parents, don't settle down into relationships for long, and often move from place to place yearly. It's a trend, and a sign of the times changing. I knew this before the article though, my parents being married in their early 20s, my brother and I in our late 20s (he's 30 next month! holy shit burgers!), and not close to being married...although, I've been in a 1 year relationship that I don't see ending soon, but prior to this I never considered marriage in the near future...Again, I haven't finished the article, but it makes me think back to tip-toeing. Am I tip-toeing through life, ignoring the growing up thing, or just going along with the trend of my generation across this nation? There must be truth to both of those, I'm sure. But, at this point, I'd rather look at it from a writing stand point. Well, I've come to the conclusion that if I keep tip-toeing then nobody will ever recognize me, my writing. One day, I'll forget to be scared, and someone will catch me in the act, act of writing, among other things like picking my nose, maybe simultaneously...maybe...more maybes...drunk on maybes.

A couple pages ago, I wrote in the margin: "Nowhere Man" plays on the TV as the kids play Beatles Rock Band, reminding me of the first blog post I created back in 2007...still often feels that way.

(To view that first blog post, click here then scroll to bottom of page, post titled "Songs on Trains")

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

2010-08-31T10:02:00.001-07:00

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

Sun. Aug. 22, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #12 - 86th Street Train Station, Waiting Area, 8:48 AM

I'm debating whether to get on this coming train. I've got a good seat in this waiting area to do some writing. Hey, if you're going to wait, this is the area to do it, just letting you know. It's a little muggy and this woman just sat down next to me. I've got nothing against her, but she's making me lean toward getting on that train. The train's not here yet even though I said "this coming train" in the first sentence. This is still true though - for a train is always coming - oh the metaphors to use with that. I've decided to pass on the metaphors that make life more confusing than it already is, but decide to get on the train - when it gets here. The waiting area must be designated for boring people, they are inspiring nothing here, nothing.

I have an inkling, but recently somebody caught my drift because I told a joke, and without my drift I can't understand this inkling and what it's about.

I'm not enjoying writing in front of other people. Pause. I see two men sitting across from me. I look up to think of what to write, then look down to write. It looks like I'm taking notes on them (of them?)...catch my drift? Ahh. Well, at least I've got MY drift back and apparently that inkling I had was that I as going to get my drift back soon - all the signs life provides you with about what's going to happen next. I hope what happens next isn't the men across from me getting sick of me taking notes, or hopefully they just get off the train soon.

A woman across the way, yeah, over there, she got on the train, chose to sit down in the seats with a row of 3, and decided to sit down in the middle seat. This is like a man going to a public bathroom, there being 3 urinals, and he chooses the middle one. Then, another dude comes in and they become more friendly than they ever planned. All guys have been in this situation. You go into the bathroom, two dudes already launching, the middle urinal free. Sane dudes, dudes that aren't insane, wait for one of the other dudes to finish. Insane dudes, dudes that aren't sane, proceed to use the middle urinal. The only occasion a sane man chooses to use the middle urinal is when he knows for certain it's going to be a quickie, a quick 10-count. One, two, ten, shake, shake, zip, don't even have to pretend to wash hands because you weren't in there long enough to make new friends, especially that-a-way.

I was about to tell that woman to move over - but then another woman got up and switched her seat. These people confuse me. What appears as a perfectly quality seat that they already have, apparently isn't good enough. They get up and move to another seat, and absolutely no apparent advantage is gained. So, instead of telling the first woman to move over, out of what's best for society, I told the second woman that moved her seat, like a teacher to a student, "Hey, get back to your seat." And all those in my section changed theirs. I have no idea why.

I thought riding the train would inspire more, but it's Sunday morning and these people just aren't inspired, I guess. The guy with his baby strapped to his chest like he's wearing a backpack on the front, frontpack, chestpack, but no, baby-pack...Ok, I sit corrected, in a proper seat I might, and did, add - that guy is inspiring. I've ridden and written on trains before and it's inspired good stuff. It must have been good otherwise wouldn't be categorized as "stuff". I guess it's hit or miss, depends who's traveling the trains that day. Some days homeruns, other days strikeouts, like today, 3 swings, wiff, wiff, wiff...take a wiff of that guy and I dare you to not be inspired...other days, bullshit baseball metaphors. Eh, actually, I sit corrected, actually no, stand, because this is my stop...stand corrected. It's not about who's on the train, or what the surroundings are. It's the act of sitting down (or standing up) in whatever seat fits you. And, since that woman is still sitting in that middle seat, essentially the middle urinal, maybe I'll try writing there tomorrow and see if that shoe fits. Don't wear sandals in this seat though, bound to feel a dribble from a new friend.

I've been trying to create a metaphor for life out of the middle urinal idea. Maybe there isn't one, and that's the metaphor. Sometimes you just have to take a leak and can't always choose your seat, or others for that matter. God made the middle urinal, so you made lemonade, I made a metaphor.

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

2010-08-28T10:37:00.000-07:00

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

Sat. Aug. 21, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #11 - My Apartment so far...

I sign on to today's "Morning Pages". A solace has arisen, and I will now sign off because I have no doubts that later today I will write and complete the 3 pages, a new found confidence, or maybe ambition? So for now, some ice coffee, some pets of my pet cat, Lil' Bobby Dylan, a couple Cat Power Songs -- "Lived in Bars" (Danced on Tables...), etc, and I will sign back on later today...

...

...I failed. But at least I tried, momma. I just got back from walking up six flights then down six flights. I'm not into walking these stairs for a hobby, although I used to run them -- but now my exercise routine consists of flushing money down toilets at the luxury gym. What had happened was - I had planned on writing today's "Morning Pages" atop my apartment building's roof (not ruff). The door was locked with a no-trespassing sign, which I ignored, but failed to get through. So, again, I'm going to sign off, go to that gym, think about where to write afterwards, and then sign back on. Which reminds me of my wiseass being more fiscally responsible, saying, "Instead of joining those expensive gyms, you should say you went to the gym today, which could be true by you running to the gym, touching it and running back." Be back later...

...

Scared to sign back on, scared to start writing again, a constant tug-of-war for writers, scared I won't be able to keep creating. I thought before that I hoped "this scared" won't outweigh me being scared to actually become a teacher instead of a writer. This goes with the idea that I'm going to graduate school to get a Masters in Education, and the closer I get to becoming a real teacher, I hope the more scared I become, forcing my hand to write.

With this writing thing, some day's it's being scared, others lack of ambition...others, what appears as lack of ambition, is really lack of knowing what to put that ambition into. I've concluded that I must go out of the apartment in order to write, too many distractions in that place, the TV stares at the back of my head, music's a good catalyst for writing, but for some reason not when I'm home, and the smell of my cat, Bob Dylan's liter box, well, I'll respect Bob, and not talk about his box, he doesn't appreciate people talking about his box...maybe it's similar to humans talking about other human's mommas, I'm not sure...Hence, I need to get out of the house. On the positive side, I did steal some time, in-between email/Facebook /what's on TV/ is my brother still sleeping? checks. And, well, the "Morning Pages" are almost completed and my confidence in my ability to create daily is improving, I think, at least at this moment.

At this moment, I am stealing more moments to write, as Ms. Cameron teaches writers must do. I'm writing at my girlfriend's apartment now. She's watching HBO's new series True Blood. From the moment vampires were mentioned in her show description, I decided, nope, not watching, time to finish the "Morning Pages" - at 8:30 PM, oh, well. There might be reasons other than its surrounding distractions that I couldn't seem to write in my apartment today, for I have written some of my best writing at the desk near the stove that my brother uses as an ashtray. Maybe, well, all day I've been nursing a hangover, possibly for obvious reason, drinking last night, the other, lack of sleeping again. Bed at 2 AM, up, rolling 'round at 6ish AM. Come to think of it, that combination (drinking, not sleeping) was a catalyst to such writings as Sunday Mo Jos and many-a-song I've written - mostly created in my apartment. My conviction in my apartment not being a great place for writing is dissipating. Again, I'm getting back to the theme - just do it, just write.

I also stole time to write on my way back from the fruit stand, 4 peaches, 4 apples, vanilla low-fat yogurt, and package of strawberries. "You are what you eat", you're not? I talked in previous "Morning Pages" about my walkings to and fro delis. This time it was a fruit stand. Yes, I'm human, deli/fruit shopping, living the daily grind. On these walks, other than reminding myself "I'm here", I often talk to myself, this time talking about last night, a meet-up with a best friend, his girlfriend and mine at Live Bait in Manhattan. It's a bar, it's got beer, and at the moment I have a conviction in not writing bar reviews. "If you're thirsty and walking by, stop in, give us a try". I wonder if they'd pay me for that slogan?...

Well, we talked over beers, what's new and all the cliche topics everyone runs through when first meeting up. The drinks sunk in and people loosened up. On the walk home from the fruit stand I thought about last night while also thinking about writing this. I broke out my cell phone, for once not to check the time, but to text myself, it makes me feel good, ok?. I typed -- revealing nothing except more unknowns, I guess referring to our questions to each other and our plans for life and its future. Who knows, yeah, who knows?

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

2010-08-27T13:40:00.000-07:00

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

Fri. Aug. 20, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #10 - Park Slope Cocoa Bar @ 9ish AM

I can picture myself in this cafe. I have an extraordinary ability to picture myself in places that I am presently in. I can also picture myself in this cafe because to the left of my seat a mirror has an extraordinarily good looking man staring at me that suprisingly resembles that freckled man that lost his glow stick that I'm writing about in my next novel (novella?) (Look up meaning of that word at later date).

I often see others not at a job during the day and ask why aren't these people working?...asking this while unemployed...oh, the irony of unemployment...is that irony?...the irony of using the word irony when it's not called for...Anyways, a guy just entered the cafe. And, yes, he is that guy. The guy that approaches looking like he might join you, oh how I love that guy. I wear a t-shirt every time I go to a cafe that I think's going to be crowded. It says, "Don't worry, I won't join you." And on the back it says, "But watch your back"...the guy didn't join me...I reverse the T-shirt as soon as I get a seat...

"Man, do I need a tan," the man in the mirror asked? Yeah, that was a question, not me reflecting that I've just discovered that I'm an extraordinarily pasty fellow. That I am, but did not just discover, and to answer the man in the mirror's question, well, no, you don't need a tan. I'd like a cookie this cafe has in jars right next to the cash register, but I don't need one - but am going to get one later - because like Seinfeld said, "Being an adult is having a cookie when you want." And I think I'm thinking along those lines. Being an adult (add-ult? People that pronounce it that-a-way shall be locked up, or shipped to Starbucksland, a reference from other "Morning Pages")...being an adult is also realizing you don't need a tan. period. Of course I'd like one. One tan? Is that the proper way to refer to tans? Like the - I'd like one, as in, a cookie. Would you like a tan? Yeah, I'd like one? But, apparently adulthood has set in for me because I've graduated to the realization that whether I'd like one (a tan) or not, I'm not going to get one. So, me and my revelation will sit quietly with a cookie, go on with our day, while others waste theirs wishing for things unattainable (like a freckled man's tan, he'd rather have his glow stick back anyways). At points in my life I felt like Pecola, the black girl in Tony Morrison's Bluest Eye. All she wanted was blue eyes. And I say black - because she's black, or was. I'm not sure if these novel characters live on. But, with or without a tan, I will live on, extraordinarily pasty. That dude in the mirror certainly needs a tan though. Time for that cookie.

...

Reading the news:

"I couldn't have done this without my teammates, " said Tiger Woods Thursday night at his press conference, his first public appearance after the famed-Thanksgiving incident, changing Tiger's world forever. He repeated, "I couldn't have done this without my teammates," as his mother sits front row, dumbfounded how her little boy got to this point - the press dumbfounded, teammates?...

...

Back to that cafe. I can picture myself coming to this cafe, sleep deprived enough to think this writing will actually lead somewhere. Maybe that's what it takes anyways, a little disconnect from the supposed rational thinking most believe they have...picture myself coming to this cafe everyday and writing. It's got all the fixtures. Over priced coffee. Dunkin' Donuts 2.25, here 2.85 - but I convince myself if I'm paying extra, I must be doing something, creating something extraordinary - for who else is waking up, traveling to different places daily and writing "Morning Pages"? Not many, and that has nothing to do with others having jobs, I agree man in the mirror.

Bottles of wine - which reminds me that, yes, I am an adult if I'm surrounded by wine, and reminds me that this is no ordinary cafe, it's extraordinary and labeled a bar, a coffee bar, or specifically The Cocoa Bar in Park Slope Brooklyn. My ice coffee's ice has melted resulting in extra ice coffee - sweat!...Bookshelves with books, I refuse to list which ones, that absolutely nobody reads, but it gives customers, like the wine, a sense of sophistication, a word I often have trouble spelling and am proud of it...gives customers a sense of sophistication that I mock, but also fall into thinking I'm a part of because I've got the coffee, the proper surroundings, with my Ipod on, novel to the side next to my Moleskine that all the legends used, they didn't?

I can picture 50 years down the road, I'm long gone, but another extraordinarily pasty fellow walks into this cafe (fucking shit man, it's a bar and these bottles of wine are making me want to drink, get drunk, at 10 in the morning!)...this pasty fellow sits down, looks to the left and sees that man in the mirror who's extraordinarily pasty as well, but he's entered adulthood, doesn't care about tanning anymore, unpacks his Northface (still around), places novel aside along with his Moleskine, his thought-dreams convince (not really, but writes that he is, reverse psychology?) him that he has extraordinary ideas in the Moleskine that nobody gets, but when his time has come and past they will be understood. He sits, writes, sips ice coffee, ordered cookie in advanced unlike me because he's truly adult and ordered it right-a-way instead of reciting Seinfeld, he's living that philosophy. His ice coffee's long finished, but the ice melted and resulted in extra ice coffee. He's on his last day of the 90 day "Morning Pages" exercise and realizes there is nothing extraordinary about the writing process. A pen, a pad. You can surround yourself with all these fixtures, but only doing it, and that's writing, will do it. Which reminds me, this is the cafe that I, I mean that pasty man in the mirror, said he came to before he substitute taught at the school across the street - the school where he told seniors in high school that were running around the classroom playing tag, "Stop acting 3 and sit the fuck down".

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

2010-08-24T17:43:00.001-07:00

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.

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

2010-08-23T18:22:00.001-07:00

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

Wed. Aug. 18, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #8 - R-Train, Bay Ridge, Destination Park Slope, but, well...

Nothing is more important than writing, and I'm sticking to it no matter how many suits and ties surround this journey. I've got my suit on too -- which is the same Old Navy Khaki Cargo Shorts I've worn the entire summer (only exchanged when it's comfort-time with basketball shorts), and today's t-shirt choice, my "Can the Man" t-shirt in black, classy, it's not? (explain Can the Man at later date, but check out the website! cantheman.com)...

...These Old Navy Cargos have the ability to, I say, "Convey the dribble". It doesn't matter how careful I am, how many extra shakes I take, after flushing the toilet or washing my hands, it's going to look like I dribbled in my pants, a little water stain in the no-sunshine arena - and it is an arena, it's like a freakin' circus down there. Now, I'm riding the train, no toilets, no flush, no sink for washing hands, no need to pee even, but this ice coffee, other than too much sugar, has excess condensation and has dripped onto my pants. In these pants, I can't escape the dribble. But they're comfortable so let people laugh...

...This piece of writing is my chair the carpenter created today, he sells it, he has money to feed his face and all the other people/responsibilities attached to him at the moment. I'm not attached to much at the moment. But, specifically, I am attached to this pen, attached to this pad, which when I'm finished will be typed up, posted on Daily Nuggets, and attached to the World Wide Web, and more than likely, attached to the revolution of people truly LOLing all the time. I can see it now - people walking around as they already do, cell in hand, thumbs-a-blazing, texting, but no, now they're reading (it's back in style, it's not?) Daily Nuggets and laughing (LOLing) their heads off, literally...and that guy just tripped over one of the heads and fell into the train tracks, ran over by the train, but he's a dick anyway, nobody morns, he's got no attachments...

...I didn't get off the train at Park Slope. I didn't feel like walking. So, I'll continue riding the train...

The train's a-flowin', but my writing has haulted...I'll pick it up again in a few minutes...

...

I'm tired, I'm lacking vocabulary, I'm anguished, is that better?

I'm on a train heading somewhere, but feel like I'm heading nowhere, what should I do?

I've looked, I've asked, but nobody has given me the line or the que

My brain's racing, my brain's wired, I've presented my papers, but won't be hired

Well, at least I won't get fired

I don't believe in violence, but my imagination just rioted

Heading nowhere

On this train

Listening to The Velvet Underground's song Heroin

At least that's a train I know I will never be upon

The one I'm upon now feels like a tunnel

I will keep riding and writing and one day I will channel...

...

...Now I'm listening to Regina Skektor's Fidelity. I decided to get off at Union Square. I'm now writing, overlooking the best of what New York City has to offer - Shoe Mania, Whole Foods Market, and of course, Forever 21 (only if). And now, I'm listening to a live version of Dylan's Ballad of a Thin Man (a song The Black Panthers listened to often; I feel like a panther now, I don't?). I see tourists taking pictures, and say, "Please not now". A fat-n-black woman...it doesn't have to be in that order, but that's what she is, and the truth will set her free, she's painting - "She's an artist, she's got everything she needs...she can take the dark out of the night and paint the daytime black". I think that's how it goes. I'll ask my cat, Bob Dylan, later...Others are playing Chess, never learned the game -- which reminds me, and in case you forgot - "Life's a game, but it's not a game". I once put on a lecture, dissecting that saying. I passed out a 500 page booklet, and inside on every single page read, "Life's a game, but it's not a game". If you skip a page, you won't make it!. I'm still reading it (I wrote it!)...

...A dude, he's white, he'll probably make it, no?. He can skip a page, no?. Ok, moving on. Another dude walked by. I've never met or even seen him in my life...but....but I hate him, freakin' hate that guy -- "while others hate nothing except hatred" (Dylan) (Dylan Dylan Dylan). Other's are just sitting. That's what most of us do, sit and wait. That carpenter's not waiting, he's creating. Maybe I could learn from him more than those suits. I say suits like I'm against them. No, that's not the case (let's be serious, no seriously). I'm just saying they aren't more important than that carpenter, or me, they are?. Ms. Cameron (the woman I keep mentioning in these "Morning Pages") said to think of a piece of writing like a carpenter and his newly created chair or desk. The carpenter creates the desk and chair, someone else had cut down a tree (so he could make those, and so we can't breathe anymore), but someone else sits down on the chair, begins to write on the desk and paper, a newspaper about saving trees is created (wins an Idea-Award), it's presented to that fat-black woman that just sold her painting, and presented to those playing Chess, and presented to those just sitting there, attached to the World Wide Web, and that's the circle of life. That revolution I explained earlier begins. It has begun, someone just LOLed. Another person's taking pictures, for they know I sparked that revolution, and I say, "Still not now, please"...I'm no longer just sitting.

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

2010-08-21T15:35:00.000-07:00

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

Tues. Aug. 17, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #7 - Another Bay Ridge Starbucks @ 6:48 AM

Yes, another Starbucks. It's "the" place to write in New York City, it's not? Yeah, it's similar to the flocks coming from across the nation to NYC and eating at a Connecticut Muffin. I'm aware there's other places to write, and admit this is the comfortable choice. I've hated on Starbucks and will again for many righteous reasons -- but it is a good place to write, get some Wifi with that ice coffee with my name on it so I don't forget which cup is mine. That's not my cup...but I've stolen a couple sip-a-rooskies, she's clueless, otherwise why'd she be dating me? Ella Kennedy on her way?...5 years?...ok, 4?...3 1/2?...no?...ok, then back to 5...

...

I'm coming down. Was up high earlier. Another sleepless night, shot gunning my mind to many unforeseen thoughts -- unseen I hope, or you'd look at me oddly, which you already do, but believe me, it gets pretty insane when you're girlfriend's asleep and you're laughing by yourself. Even my agent, located in the right side of my head, is mocking me, saying he's a figment, or a Fig Newton of my imagination. Try jumping from the novel page you're reading now to five chapters ahead, or jump further into the middle of another book by that author, or a completely different subject all together. That's what my mind's doing when it's severely sleep deprived. I'm present with the song I'm listening to, then I'm back in middle school telling a teacher she sucks, and bursting out laughing in real time. My girlfriend mumbles awake, asking if I said anything. No, I didn't, I don't think so. And I laughed again. Oh, you're delirious again, she says. Five minutes later, I ask, "Are you awake?" Silence. Nothing. "Oh, ok." And I burst out laughing again. It was hilarious, it wasn't?...Next, I'm working at Dunkin' Donuts. Or, was dreaming I was, well, not dreaming like Martin did, but like I was sleeping, but, well, I wasn't sleeping, remember? That's why I'm in this predicament (ridiculous word, it's not?). My writing may lack certain things (but not vocabulary!) so I will tell you to imagine instead of you falling into the imagining state from the crotch-hold of good writing.

Imagine - "Welcome to Dunkin' Donuts"...pause in what you'd like to call disbelief but it's partially acceptance of what your life has become, thinking, they were right, I will be asking "that" question, and here it is, "Can I take your order?"..."Yes, can I get half of a dozen chocolate frosted donuts?"...nothing is said, or confirmed yet. I just stare at him.

(to the left, me taking orders at Dunkin' Donuts, and my expression to the order "a half dozen donuts")

...then, "Oh, I'm sorry, well, no I'm not, I didn't do anything wrong, why'd I be sorry...what did you order, I blacked out?"..."A half dozen chocolate frosted donuts please"...I do the stare again..."Is there another way you could order that sir?" He's dumbfounded - which makes no sense - because obviously this guy hasn't picked up the correct rock and found out that he's - dumb...He says hesitantly, "Half dozen"..."Yes, I heard, but there's another way to order that sir."...Time passes...Then time doesn't pass...Then it does again...Check back later to see what time does next...but then, I give in, "6 donuts sir, 6!" I think donut shoppes should give discounts to those that order 6 donuts instead of the "half dozen". It is simply not necessary to say that, but completely necessary for me to rant...I do not rave, well, anymore - because it's not the 90s anymore and a freckled man lost his glow stick - which is actually the name of my next novel, or album - I haven't decided whether I'm going to print the stories in a book or sing them. Again, picture it - on the cover of a book, atop the best-seller list...well, 2nd on the list...

1. The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown (I know it's old, but was probably atop the list, and I haven't read a book since it came out).

2. A Freckled Man Lost His Glow Stick by Garrett Kennedy

3. Bible by Chris

...And now, I'm back to that song I was listening to...which by the way is Ray Lamontagne's new song New York City is Killing Me, a forever inspiring-and-depressing song as Ray does so often...Next, I'm saying good-bye to my girlfriend because I still can't fall asleep - might as well start the day. I'm reminded of Denzel Washington in John Q (Denzel has never played Denzel better!), and said to Yvette, "It's not goodbye, it's I'll see you later"...we'll see...

...I'm walking down the street and imagine (you should still be too) this as a skit on SNL -- Dude walks out of the door as I pass so we're walking side by side. A new observationalist to this situation might think we're together, not together-together, but a friend or co-worker shooting the shit, walking to the bagel shoppe ("May I take your order?") or train stop. But, we aren't together. We are just two men trying to do our thang in this cold, cold world...actually it's pretty hot this morning. Let the space between my...be my witness...it's sweaty...It's also getting awkward. You've been in this situation before, walking down the street, you're behind someone and feel you're pace is going to catch up to this person, but anticipate you're not going to pass them easily at this pace...so, you debate - should you slow down (probably!...if we want to cross our legs and discuss metaphors...over wine, adult grape juice)...or should you speed up...but then you'll be next to this person for about 5 seconds, a long 5 too, and then it feels like you're in a race, and you start feeling bad that you're beating them, and they didn't even know they were racing (aren't we all, Momma!)...and then, you can't immediately go back to your original pace for at least a block or that person will catch up and you'll start rotating who's in the lead (and if this motherfucker thinks he's leading, he's got another thing coming!)...

...So, in the skit I'd say, "Ok, one of us has to go faster...or slower...because this is getting awkward...and it should probably be you...because this is my pace...I purchased it on EBay"...the moral of the story is that everybody should walk to their own pace...unless you converge with mine...stop fucking up my pace people...get your own...And now, it is time to lift the spirits with another song - Tracy Chapman's Fast Car.

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

2010-08-21T13:35:00.001-07:00

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

Mon. Aug. 16, 2010 - "Morning Pages" - Day #6 - Flying Saucer Cafe, Atlantic Ave., BK

So anxious, a race against time this morning with these "Morning Pages". It's got me thinking, like, last night, what am I racing to? I was trying to fall asleep last night, but couldn't. Again! I said to myself, "I'm anxious, but I'm not...I mean, I am...but no, I'm not!" Maybe it's this city and its pace that's got my mind a million miles past my feet.

This anxiousness continued while waiting for the R-train today at 86th Street in Brooklyn. Why can't we humans accept the way things are. I'm not saying accept the status quo and enable "The Man", the boogie man does exist, I knew it! Momma lied...enable "The Man" to continue his greed, whatever. I'm talking about our daily tasks that contribute to this anxiousness. My pen can't catch up to my racing mind no matter how many months it trains to get in better shape.

Our daily tasks - like waiting for that train, or like now, I'm waiting for the clock to hit 10 AM and then it's time to go babysit. I've got 20 minutes. I've been alive now 28 years (happy b-day self!). So, I do have a ballpark estimate of what 20 minutes feels like - why keep clicking the cell, looking for the time? How many times have you clicked your cell, looking for the time, putting it back in your pocket, then asking, "What time is it, again?" We forget to look. It's like we've become that dude Desmond Humes from Lost that thought he had to press a button everyday or the world would blow up.

Sidebar: In the margins I wrote - I don't put much wine in my glass so it looks like I'm making progress, getting things done...

Here I am (another reminder), racing my pen, racing against 10 AM. Yeah, my goal is to write 3 pages every morning, but does my world blow up if I don't meet this self-imposed deadline. Yes, it probably does. I clicked the cell again.

Back to waiting for the train, I wrote:

Stop lookin' in mirror, just work out/ stop conversation about, just drink wine/ stop clock watchin', this ain't no sitcom, you can't change time/ as you look down the line, the wrong way, the train will come when it comes...

...If only we had 3 more people to look down the tracks. That would supply enough magnetic field to pull the train we're all waiting for, right? We all know looking down the tracks doesn't make the train come faster. I've even mocked the people doing it by looking down the tracks the wrong way, this time on purpose (because I'm hilarious, I'm not?), but other times accidentally and then I've got to pretend I'm looking for a person or something other than the train.

Sidebar: Dude sits in couch across from me, seat sinks down further than he thought it would, makes him look like an idiot, even more so than he did before...

Of course, I'm not criticizing this anxious part of society. I'm an all-star (I'm not?) when it comes to worrying about things we have no control over. But, for now it's time for me to take that walk to the house I'm sitting at (sounds like a sentence from a first grader, you know what I mean? If you don't then you didn't finish first grade. I didn't finish my 3 pages yet. My world may blow up. I don't apologize if the pieces hit yours. I will clean up this piece (and my life) after the sitting.

..."Morning Pages" continued...Maybe me missing the 10 AM self-imposed deadline was a good thing, and will lead to better writing. In-between then and now, I read a New York Times article, and my "Morning Pages" relates very much to the article. It's about the ongoing debate on how technology (cell phones, email) and all this multitasking affects our brains, and possibly our decision making. I would like to take my time on this and create an actual article. And, time I should take. I will continue writing later, after the day has developed, and maybe my ideas can blossom too...whatever, yeah, who knows?

New York Times article: Outdoors and Out of Reach, Studying the Brain by Matt Richtel

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/16/technology/16brain.html?ref=technology

...The Right to Write - Exercise

2010-08-21T09:05:00.000-07:00

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

Sun. Aug. 15, 2010 - "Morning Pages" Day #5 - A Bay Ridge Dunkin' Donuts

Trying to figure out what to write is difficult. Trying to figure out what to write when you're still trying to figure out why Bay Watch is airing this morning at 9 AM on Comedy Central is more difficult. But then you take a couple sips of this here ice coffee and things become clearer. The person that decided to put Bay Watch on Comedy Central is either extremley hilarious, or the show's on because David Hasselwoff's Roast is airing tonight - Let 'em have it Lisa Lampanelli. I love "LL"...Sit and watch Bay Watch on Comedy Central and you will realize it was meant to be a comedy all along. Comedy Central doesn't even have to write and come up with their shows anymore. Put Bay Watch on there, a couple hours of President Bush's press conferences, some Sarah Palin interviews, and keep the Daily Show and Colbert Report, and the stations as funny as ever. Sarah Palin was SNL's best writer a couple years ago. That's why she quite (resigned!) being Alaska's governor. She's focusing on her comedy career now. Also, add Seventh Heaven (show's hilarious) and Martin (Marr-tin!) to Comedy Central's lineup. Or, even better - create new shows -- Martin, as it is, but split screen...one half Martin, and the other half showing the Palin family sitting down watching Martin...

...Dunkin' Donuts ice coffee = 2 dollars and 25 cents; something you purchased at the 99 Cents store = not 99 Cents; a McDonalds' chococlate milkshake = not sure the cost, Bay Ridge's machines are always broken, or they pour vanilla shakes, trying to pass it off to me as a chocolate shake, leading me to bring it back and point to the cup, "What? Do you think I work at McDonalds? Chocolate shake please"...One more example before the dismount...a pound of ham from the corner deli = $9.37, well then it's $8.67...The Palin family's expressions while watching Martin = Priceless. To even this out, also add the split screen with Ice Cube's family watching Seventh Heaven...Come on Comedy Central. I like the direction you're going in with Bay Watch. Consider my ideas. Remember my last "Morning Pages". I've won awards for my ideas. I've got many more too, so also consider hiring me. I need a job! Unemployment isn't affording me much except the time to write these "Morning Pages" in the first place. And, I am in first place by the way, I'm not?...In case you didn't know and didn't listen to the advice of "you better ask somebody", and now you still don't know -- "Life's a marathon"...and "A box of chocolates"...which is giving me cramps while running the marathon and it's not even that time of month for me yet.

...

I thought of writing a poem for you. I thought of writing a love letter. I rejected those ideas and thought of writing something more concise like a Romance novel. The masses are sick of me writing Romance novels. They say, "Garrett, you're so talented, try another genre"...Ok, so here I am trying this comedy thing. Here I am. I repeat, here I am, not in care you forget, but in case I do. -- A sidebar from the forever-enticing conversation I was having with myself before -- but, I didn't sleep great again last night. I've slept much better over this past year, but am still constantly telling myself what I just wrote - Here I am - or I'll ask the question, "Am I really here?" Yeah, I'm in New York City, and many who didn't grow up here (which I didn't even though with every step and breath, I scream Brooklyn!) think to themselves, "I can't believe I'm actually here, living in New York City." No, that's not what I'm saying to myself...I walk down the street, attempting my new walks, trying them out in Bay Ridge, hoping the Manhattanites will one day accept my new walk. Manhattan walks have become so commercialized though. I'll be walking down the street, from the deli to my apartment, ham pound in hand, and suddenly be like, "Wow, wait, I'm walking down the street." I know I was walking down the street, but there's a difference in casually knowing and truly being present. I'm guessing I'll look back and not remember much of what I've written. I'm sure many writers, if they've written enough, forget much of what they've written. But, at least they were present at the time (maybe not?). As I'm writing, I almost completely forgot I'm in a Dunkin' Donuts, and it has nothing to do with my great focus on this writing. Sleep deprivation disconnects you from being present, your mind's always elsewhere. Being present I think is the most important thing in life. And maybe, writing like I am now, I feel it Ms. Cameron, I'm channeling (my inner-beard again), will lead me to being present again, or at the very least, I can look back and physically see what I've created. It's a love-hate relationship I've got with this sleeping problem. I would never have written those "Sunday Mo Jos" or those songs without being somewhat disconnected. I've called sleep deprivation before - the absence of being present. I don't want to celebrate it, but maybe I should channel it and convert it to thinking it's being completely present. It does allow me (at times) to forget thinking and just write, that channeling Ms. Cameron teaches. But, when it comes to sleeping again, my mind won't shut off and I can't stop thinking, the thoughts so random and unrelated to one another. For now, I'm signing off for today's "Morning Pages". I'm sure I'll bring up insomnia again. Who knows, maybe I actually have written Romance novels and dropped them on my way back from the deli...who knows?...yeah, whos knows?