Have the courage to write badly.
Graham Greene wrote 500 words a day. No more no less. Strangely enough Greene shares my birth day (october 2nd) and died on my birthyear, peacefully mind you (1991).
A few quotes from Graham Greene. His favorite novel being "The Fallen Idol" or the more famous "The Third Man." Also known for "Brighton Rock," and adapting books to screenplay.
“The sense of unhappiness is so much easier to convey than that of happiness. In misery we seem aware of our own existence, even though it may be in the form of a monstrous egotism: this pain of mine is individual, this nerve that winces belongs to me and to no other. But happiness annihilates us: we lose our identity.”
“Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose, or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.”
“I wish sometimes you had a few bad motives, you might understand a little more about human beings.”
And so on and so forth. Dark Side of The Moon, transition from the sax solo in 5 beats over 4 to an easier rhythm to follow in 4 beats over 4. Sleep in the planetarium, despite how lame and tacky that one old thing was, stuck on top of some building, an old space nerd confined to the dome shaped dots and darkness, lines drawn in the sand, to be washed away by time, his old sense of humor with obvious attempted draws at pop culture. He feels as small as the rest of us although we are hiding and he is in the spotlight, so to speak, in a dark room. We sit back, he controls the ohs and ahs and we announce ourselves properly, picks on the cute foreign girl to point out a star based on constellations with a laser point, her hands shaking, cruel nervousness, but the other girl, the punk rock mexican looking one, with pierced everything and a bro tank and deeper voice, her chubby, abrasive friend, and all of those who look to me for a laugh, with my self-deprecating humor and surprise wit and charm. It's not all a joke people. Decipher it. Take two minutes and you will figure it out.
NEW GOAL. Join a writing club of some kind. A community of theoretical young authors. A gild.
always stick around for that last drink, that's when things happen
Finish the day's writing when you still want to continue.
“Smile, breathe and go slowly.” - Thich Nhat Hanh
Where have you been? How does it feel to be a ghost? If you knew when I wrote. When I tore out every word from my head and destroyed the pages soon thereafter. Whatever whatever. No poetic violence here. Just astronomical devices, clever songs about girls, care packages in the mail for birthday surprises, and gandhi. The good things in life, of mankind. Invite only girl party where our neighbors are dressed like garbage. Meaning they look great. Tasteful makeup. Dresses shorter than straight armed fingertips. (Whereeeee haveee youuu beeeen??) The fuck have you been?? Rub sleeplessness into my eyes and revise sentences I wrote early as if this outlet was something more than mental vomit. Literally vomit last night. Woke up instinctively two minutes before my loud intrusive alarm. Cold shower to revitalize skin and wash off whatever died in my sleep. Take my vitamins, smile. 50 cent coffee. Read about music and well-being. The usage of soothing music in medical settings to help procure a more relaxed environment for both doctor and patient. While drawing a child's blood for instance. I wish they conditioned me out of fear with some symphony. Some drops of jupiter, some mercury poisoning neptune. In this latitude! This 33 degrees of separation from the equator. 12 degrees off from my old life. Numerous climates. (above the floor pounding. either sex or dancing) Ate some fast food breakfast, a winning smile, and some big man attempts to hit a high falsetto note from a repetitious pop song. Facilitate discuss in a music lab, a quiet loyal asian man helps me set up electronic kit, itching to play but no real skill to show, but it isn't about that. Play while she talks, slight bursts of "holy christ I hate my job" and all of these fucking kids. I smile and wink and nothing comes of it. I wink harder, more noticeably. Something is wrong with me. They play sad songs and I sing like a creep. Walk back away from that classroom, that suffocating prism. Discuss music and birthday situation. Sent off to lunch or lab time. Applied fro graduation, she did. Died. A bike accident. Some raspberries to remember. To photograph and document. Ran over my a bike or something such. Gets to drive a golf cart around, physically living the manifestation of my dream. Campus Cab. Five dollars. A Fix me up. Van Wilder. Talk. Tool talked about how his mom showed up with two handles of vodka. Shit for brains. Astronomy. Slaps on backs. Cute girl hushed by my curious glance. I must have looked offended or mad and she left. I will never understand that gender. Never. But say. Maybe I am that jerk. That terrible neighbor and difficult friend. The one who believes in nothing and everything and cannot explain a day in any great detail. Do you feel enlightened now? Did you step inside this window I opened and see a glimpse of what my day might have been? Do you believe me? Do you believe that I haven't slept anywhere but in my own bed, and alone?
