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

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...

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...

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...

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...

...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"...

...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!...

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!