( I have all these invitations to go all over the world and back to the biggest cities in america again, and yeah, sometimes I get real honest and well yeah being a writer means you have to make a living, and I still have no clue how to do that, and I have no real clue how to wait and send forms out and wait for agents and wait for the recession to level it self out. I have no clue why humans want so much stuff and yell so loudly and want to go to war and hurt children and grown ups and animals and just hurt things. And I get bored with the business end of writing, I just want to write, but I also want to not be seen as a bum, and I’m conflicted because I love my family and friends and can offer nothing when it comes to money, and before you judge me go and judge yourself, cause truthfully I don’t care about money, I could have nothing and walk around with the same shoes and old jeans that I have had for the past oh I don’t know, just a bunch of years now, and you can judge, and many do, because I do seem lost, but yeah even I know that I need some kind of success to reinforce that I’m not crazy or something, not to me, but to them, and so I work and work and want to give up and die, but I have this strength in me that once I said I’m going to do something, well I will give it everything that I have, and I only know how to write now, and I think like a writer, and that’s why I made those books, cause I cant get a job, I don’t know what I would even do anymore. So my plan is to sell my work with only me by my side. Print as many books as I can and go sell them and do readings and what not. I have thought about doing one of those kickstarter drives to raise a few thousand dollars so I can print my books off and go by bus and train to cities, and Ive even written the whole thing out. All I have to do is click start and I have 24 days to see if people like me enough to give me money. And I made the awards reasonable. Where if someone gives a few bucks they get a free book. But man, I’m a flippin artist, I dont want money, but this is the plight of the creative artist. I wanted to be an arttist because so many of my freinds were artists. I played baseball and was kinda a nerdy kid who looked up to the artists. Now that I am one, well man, fuck, conflicted, just conflicted.
So yeah, to kick or not to kick and if I don’t make the money well I will be kinda angry, the whole thing is odd. But I will never quit writing and this I hope doesn’t mean that I will lose everything. I told myself I was going to be a writer and that is what I have tried to do for the past ten years. Anyway and yeah its not easy and maybe I’m not even that skilled at it. But tonight, in a few minutes, well I just woke up and only slept for about two hours. This whole week was strange cause I was working so hard and its as if I don’t know how to slow down right now, because I feel like it could be taken away at any moment, so I just keep working and man now im growing a beard again. Either way, after I post this I’m going to start the end of my full book, The Adventures of a Dying Young man, and Henry appears in pretty much all of my work, and in this book, well this book is his farewell song if you will. I’m not saying he dies, I’m not sure what happens to him yet, but he has about twenty pages left in his probably fictional future. I haven’t worked on this book in about three months
, because I wanted to work on other things and give it time to grow on its own, without me. So below is where I left off. Now I turn off my computer and light smoke, breathe in wind, light candle, think, close eyes, breathe, smell, zone, feel, and then re open my eyes and see what Henry is up to. This is where he last was: )
taken from, Adventures of a Dying Young Man (unedited)
While I’m smiling and just looking for a few seconds longer at this woman that I in a mere moments I will never see again, as my tears have dried up and been forgotten, and just as I’m ready to turn around and start my adventure again my eyes blink and once again I stare out the window that’s only a few feet behind us.
I’m still, I’m silent, I forget where I’m at and just get lost in a few second daze looking out the framed abyss that is four stories high, and out there, well there doesn’t seem to be anything at all. And as I blink, as I blink, as I open my eyes I notice what looks to be a single star all alone high in the nights sky. I blink, I blink, and yeah that is strange I thought, but how wonderful to see the lone star out there tonight. And right as I’m about to give her one last look over and break out of this damn hospital, you know, just get back on my adventure, well I give that star one last wink at the star that is millions of light years away but still I can see it, and who knows maybe someone around that star can see me, see our star, our sun. Yeah, I know, that sure is a funny thought, just my imagination thinking. But don’t worry I haven’t lost my mind and I’m alright the deoctors said that its alright to get on my way.
I can see nothing. I’m alone but not as I stare at the star that is all of a sudden twinkling brightly in the night as if it is the only light house on the shore of lake, and as I give the star a big ol grin I feel cold, as if I don’t have any shoes on, as if my bare feet are on cold pavement during the winter time, as if my body is doing it some snow angels er something. I forget that I just got done being operated on. I forget that I had all those strange dreams. I feel alive but cold. My eyes blink and I’m just starting to get used to my body again after being out of it so long, you know, being asleep so long and being in that dang dream for so long. The star flicks….The star flicks…
Adventures In American Writing 