Well, I am going to write in here a lot in a minute, but I have to get myself more comfortable... must, and need to eat something too...
Now, I am just getting things going, getting the words flowing now, and this is what I am seeing and hearing in my heart of hearts.
My lower back is sore, and that is a symptom of being out of shape and morbidly obese.
These are things I did not imagine when I was younger, that I would be morbidly obese... maybe a little out of shape as I stepped away from the heavy athletics, but not really too bad.. .let myself go a little in college... these were the things... all of it, whether it wanted to be or not... these things.
Now, all of what I am getting myself and others into... does any of this matter? Do I have to write out and through all the nonsense again and again in my life as I let the dust webs the cobwebs build up and through my mind? Do I have to spend the massive energy, the large amount of time, getting all the bullshit out of my mind and onto the page? flushing out what doesn't matter, to reveal what does?
Are these the requirements of what I am going to do, of the life I intend to lead? Is what I am going to do really having to do with writing so much, so very, very much all the time and live long day? Is that what matters? Am I going to write all this out? Yes, I certainly am. I am going to write a million trillion words, and maybe 1% will be anything worth reading. And that is just fine. That is just what it will take... I am not writing to be read, I am writing to live. This is a vital point to understand - I don't need you to read me, listen to me, understand me - I need to write the words, the thoughts, the ideas, the meanings, the insinuations, the pain, the joy, all of it, I need to write it all.
and when I do that... what will be left for me? The experience. It comes clear, it comes right clear to and from me, that what I will do with and for myself is to experience life as it actually comes.
I forget, I constantly and continually forget, that writing, the writing on the keyboard from my mind onto the page, is the most important and vital thing for me to do at any and every time... these are the things that I must do... I must write.. I MUST write... I must - and so I will.
These are the things that all of this means and matters to be... what it is what what it is, and how and when and why it should be the same thing that it really is and was and should be.
These are where and why... annoyed at the dog again now, he is eating shoes... as is his wont... but all of this is still a matter of writing... all the days can be written here and all the meaning can come to and from all of this.
I write because I can and will.
And god's honest truth, the writing will get me through. I have to remember that. i have to remember that. What got me through the best year of my adult life consisted of writing some 280 entries... that means I missed ... wow, only 80 days... that's not really bad, especially considering... considering.
and now, what really matters to me now is this: to write, I have to get the lead out of my writing mind.. I must... I must, yes. This I must do, I must write as long and as hard as I can, and by doing this, I will be doing what must be done... i will be doing the thing that takes the time, that consists of all the world and how it is done and what it does for and over all people. all people... this and these things... all of it.
Writing down, not only the bones, but also all the other things that need to be written down... there are typwriters in all the world, there are computers everywhere I go, in everything I see and do... these are the things. these are the things.
When I go ahead to write the words within my mind, I need to remember that what I am writing is and will be for ever for myself and not necessarily for others. this is as it should be... these are the things that make a difference in the lives of all the people around me and my life.
My family: my family is as it was and is as it is.
My life: what is my life really?
How did I forget all of this? How did I make a move toward all of this, and do the things that must and need to be done?
How did I forget that writing is my life's blood? That I need to fret the words down on to the page, sweat the letters out of my mind, bleed my thoughts out into sentences and fragments in tomes in books, etc. This is what I must do.
There will be very little that is worth reading... maybe I find that stuff? Maybe I sift through all the chafe and just get to the very best things that are there? Maybe I do this, and maybe I just continue to write, and hang all that could be in the writing.
These are the things... these are the things and what is meant by all of it is that these are the things. Rain is coming, appartently - my computer says so... but I don't like that.
Oooh, but now I switched to fullscreen, so I don't have to listen to that little dingy voice in the bottom of my screen telling me it's going to rain.
Well, here I am... writing away. I am in the thick of it for sure, right here, I am getting out what's in my head... I am getting it out, but I do not really know when it will be enough... Will it ever be enough? I don't really know... I really don't know... what all the meaning is and of and for... Swann's Way - what is it?
Got in my own way there for a little while. I spent some time looking at chromebooks online... it was what it was... now i have this laptop, I can survive with that for a while, and I can also... can also... write with the little bluetooth keyboard and my phone... these things... these things indeed.
And now, the world is turning and the thoughts are coming fast and I am making progress on my life and moving forward with what I want and need to do here and now.
I have realized that writing is vital. Writing is lifeblood, and I need to spend it out of my veins every morning, as early and as quickly as possible - no waiting... get the words written, and out of my life... onto the page. These things. These things indeed.
I am running out of things to say, but I know that this writing will help me to live the best life I am capable of, the best life I can attain, by writing what is in my mind, by getting all the nonsense out, especially in the morning, shaking all the cobwebs free to have a conversation with myself, to gather in the stock from the field and to lay waste to the tendrils of the silence in my mind, mincing metaphors and similies in the studious way of which I am capable.
But really, but really now, what matters, what does matter?
It is clear now, that what matters is what matters.
Haha, this is circuitous and circular, back and forth upon each other... and so I learn to while away the days... this is what I learn and wont to do... write this all down and over, and it would be so nice to have had a pedaling under the desk while I am a writing. These things are tremendous, but ever so it is of my heart to write regardless of how I am or how I feel, these things are all that there is to be and have and such.
I take a sip of my coffee and I slow my fingers down a little bit.
I think more clearly and slowly now, I find that ... nah, I'm still caught up in the cacaphony of my mind... let it tumble and ramble a while... let it all out and over and in... these are the things... if I get my words written in the morning, I will be ever free to do what pleases me and others throughout the rest of the day... these are the things... wake up at 4am... go to the basement... no, I cannot, I will have to go to the dining room, and I will have to write while the dog is just late sleeping, these things are such athat I must do this... must do these things, ain and outside of all that matters.
I inserted a jump break in there.. and these are the things that they are.
Well, I suppose that if these words are for me, then they are for me.... but it is critical that I that I that I.... remembering... rekindling emotions, negative, painful, broken... these things.
all of this is more painful and broken than I would prefer, but it is ever the best thing for me to do.
What I am saying... I don't know what I am saying, but what I mean is this:
As I write, the words flow through me, really not that way at all... let me try again.
I am writing the gobbledegook that is in my mind... I am writing out the cobwebs, squeezing the puss from my brain, wiping it all down this virtual page, and it is such that it is such... 10 years I have been writing so hard... and 5 years after I started, I had a lot of success... These are the things... the things.
10 years ago this summer, I stopped drinking. I am surprised I had 10 years of my life to give away to not drinking. I am surprised that I am alive. In fact, if I hadn't quit drinking, I would be dead by now. I wouldn't have lived to see 45... And not because I was a raging alcoholic, more because I was an unpredictable and blackout drinker. And these things should maybe not be said aloud to other people.... but this is where it is important for me and others... these things.
who will dare to delve this deep into the broken words of a former mad man?
who dares?
Haha, I do not.... so who will?
Well, it is of no use anymore... I have a lot of time left in which I could write, and I am enjoying writing while I have the time to do the writing. I am looking forward to getting a chromebook... again... that will be very nice. But I may not get it... but I also may. We shall see.
A nice little guy with a lot of battery, these are the things.
all of this makes a difference. All of this is a way forward and over.
When it comes to making things look like... well, that is just for show and facade... what i am talking about instead is... truth and reality. It is ugly, at times. It is just plain brutally ugly. This is truth. This is reality. But other times it is awesome, full of wonder, filled with amazement.
I don't know... I just don't know... all of these things... there is much to be seen and had in and around all of this... because it is true, because it is true.
i am letting my fingers fly across the keyboard whehter or not any of this makes any sense, these are the things I am letting myself do, these are the things I am working toward and with and for... there is much to be seen and done, and I am seeing and doing it all... these are the things...
i am grateful for what I have, I am grateful for what I have done... when I look at the truth of my life, these are facts: I AM grateful for all my life and experience, for all the times I showed up to do something I didn't really want to do... I am grateful for life and living... these things are true... and through all of it, these are the things I want and need to say and do: live the life you are meant to live... it is the life that you are living right now... there is no other life that you "should" be living instead... these are realities, these are life's makeups.
Now it matters that what there is, there always was.
I understand that there is time that passes. I understand that I cannot get time back. I understand that time wasted is forever gone. But the pages need to be written if I am ever to make any progress on what I am thinking about and what I need to do.
There is so much backlog in my mind that needs to be written out... so much that could be seen as moving forward... so much that could be... well, that could be... well, that could be let loose upon the world.
these things are important. These words are vital. This meaning is never corrupted, but rather, a smattering of applause is coming and going, these are the things that make a difference, these are the things that matter.
Make a world for and with all of what you are doing.
I could make art, I could make music, I could make books, I could read, I could... could. could.
It is only what I actually do that matters though. and doing all those things are feasible and meaningful. The question is where will I actually start? What will I go through and be of when it comes time to make a difference with all the words that are in my heart and all the words that are in my brain?
Writing down the bones. Writing down the words. Putting words to thought. Putting thought to words.
These letters all fly, they fly down and into the words, making sentences and paragraphs, sidling up to one another, and forming groups that hope to make some sort of perverted sense to the reader or the writer even. But it doesn't always work out that way, it doesn't always make a difference, it doesn't always show that who and what there is and was makes a difference to any of us... what will we do? Where will we go? What matters?
These are questions I constantly ask myself - where will I go, what will I do, what matters... all of this is important. but the journey and the experience are more important. More important than the other things through which the world flows and knows and makes it known to be a portion of the world and better in the end of what is and what never was.
Can you make a difference? Can words make a difference? Can anything that is anyone or anything may any sort of a difference in this world?
I like to think so. I like to think that writing the best and most important things could help to shape and change the world... that technology rightly embraced and expressed can form a better world for each and all of us to live in. I like to think that... and part of me, probably ... no, definitely, most of me thinks that is true.
This is reality, this is truth. I have to write so far and hard to get to it, but the fruit is actually there, is within grasp, and it is sweet. The fruit is ripe, though perhaps not large and filling, but it is there for the picking - the ideas that hold merit. The thoughts that are sound. Embrace the positive. Embrace those things that are positive about life and living. Fan the flames of looking up, of uplooking.
These are what we are... These are who we are. these are the meanings that we send and give ourselves. All of it makes a difference. Everything matters! That is the name of a book I started reading, some kid who is a cocaine addict. These things.
And now, well, now what?
continue to write the words, continue to make the differenc of all the things that matter... this is what makes a difference, this is what makes things matter and go through all of the work that it takes to get where it needs to go. These are the things... These are all the things.... and now, it is clear that what matters is what actually matters.
Got a couple likes.. that will work. That is fine and good and dandy.
Now these words continue to pour out of me, continue to move montonous, vomitous across the page and down down down.
What does it matter if I keep writing? What matters is that this is my lifeblood... this is the thing that makes a difference in my life, this is what I am meant to do, this is how I am meant to sift through the bullshit in my brain and get at what really makes a difference - what I do and how I do it.
what I do is the only thing that changes anything at all.
How I do what I do is the only thing I have control over, and the best way to engage with and enter the present moment.
I remember libraries, library days. I remember wanting to read so so many books that were there and available on the shelves, and the library was the size of the first floor of my modest house. It was not large, yet there were books everywhere, and it was my desire to be and with and for all of those words to soak them all up, to read them all, to obsess over them, and to make the acquantence of all those who came before.
But then the writing came along, and only because I set out to be an english major at a college I went to by default. but see, that is simply not true! I started writing before I went to college, I started writing in high school, and I let myself write, and I let myself go down into a spiral, a spiral of not exercising, a spiral of thinking that ... enlightenment could be found in the cynical and depressed. That a tortured artist is the only and best kind of artist.
But this is not the truth. The truth is not. There is nothing that is, only what was, and what is is what will be... See, this is nonsense. And yet it is. And so it will be.
But in the meantime... what next?
I am getting a little bit sore, but I am also feeling like I am getting closer and closer to what matters... closer and closer to the end of the gibberish... the gibberish that will appear again by morning, that will begin to cloud my hearing, to steal my soul, no, hide my soul. These things will happen. This too has meaning.
And all of this takes for granted those things that we could and will continue to do.
Now, what makes a difference in and around all of that?
How do things come by the end of all that is and was?
My brain was on things at work, my brain was thinking of all the things that are happening and have to happen at and with and for work... but I am just doing what needs done. I am just making the world move forward and over and through.
Do the things that make a difference.
So, what makes a difference?
I think, therefore, I am miserable. I think, therefore I am. But is that truth? Is that reality? Does that make sense and is it what there is and was and will be?
I certainly don't know. I feel I am approaching the end of this session, but I have not completed what I set out to do... I have not made the difference in and around all that was and is, I have not made the things that go around it all, I have not... have not.
I have not reached fruition.
I pulled a little fruit off the branch, but there is far more to be plucked. But I am but one man, and can only use my two hands to reach out, one at a time, while I hold onto the branch for safety, and begin to pluck the fruit.
These are the things.
I am old, but I'm happy.
I could be happy writing words all the day long. I am happy writing words all the day long... and there is nothing much to it, really, there is nothing but the words and the work, and all of this comes and goes and moves about the world as it passes before me and over me and past me and through me. These are truths that cannot be denied or forgotten... these are all the things that thought has brought me in and around all the things we think of.
Now, what does it mean to have made a difference?
I am less social than I need to be. I avoid functions and get togethers. I make a fool of myself in my absence. And these things I know.
And yet to join, to be a part, to know and participate with others to whom I am indebted, these are difficult things, these are things that hurt that make pain in and among my members and feelings.
What of it matters?
What of it makes any difference?
I have been drinking coffee, probably only two cups at this evening, and yet I am getting hungry and tired.... if I eat, then I will sleep. If I sleep, I will not eat.
My back is sore from this writing, but I am certain that it is for the good, as I am writing what matters, I am making in roads to all that is, to all that life will hold for me.
And for now, that is enough, for now, I will lay down my pen, and I will write again later.
Until next time.
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