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

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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.