Wanderings of a writer in the digital age (A NUMBER IN A SERIES GREATER THAN !)

Writer’s note: (minimal editing because of space/time constants) It’s been a really long couple weeks. I laugh when I think about that because I should type the truth. It’s been more like  a long seven years since this whole adventure just happened. On days like this I can feel it. I’m really pushing myself harder than I ever have and as you get older you notice when you… strain.

Really when it comes down to it I’m a young man, and like most I’m trying not to forget about the nice weather by enjoying summer. With whatever money I have I take small travels. One thing that’s important (if you’re someone like me) to remember is never to get lost and strand yourself somewhere without a way out, and so damn, I can get  anywhere, but getting back to a bed that’s mine is something I have to think about. Whatever. I guess take it or leave it . It’s just another future lesson for human writers.

I’m post the safety wormhole called the university. I’m still trying to find a job or a career or something where people are driven, and this whole process  is exhausting. You just have to keep going and getting better better better…and I keep telling myself don’t think about it. I’ve been writing and trying to get better, editing and reading and sending out hundreds of resumes. Working damn close to twenty hours a day and so in about an hour I’m going to buy some damn tacos and beer and take it easy and go lay outside for the rest of the day. Sometimes all you can do is wait. I thought about what I should do. sometimes being a writer is difficult. It was actually a pretty bad decision to want to be a writer. I don’t even know what that means. It’s like you see a cave and you say, that looks cool, why not go wander in the dark by myself forever…

Maybe that didn’t make sense. I only know that I have to try and market myself but also this site is for this, for my thoughts, for my whatever the hell I want to do. I can write gentle and objective or I can get the rage and articulate my difficulty with being a human being. I can write about news stories or books and hell you want a academic paper on any subject? I’m not really going to do it WINK…but I could write one for you. I’m kidding. Honestly, don’t tell anybody but when I lived in many of the ol’ college towns people would ask me to write papers for them. I didn’t even take the class but they said you did a really good job on that paper, how’d you do it? Well so on the down low, I researched it all night and enjoyed every minute of it. Why? I like learning new things and I like writing. It’s sorta how I live my life. When I’m where I’m at now I don’t have anybody to talk to so I write and read and you know, same ol jazz. I’m just saying that I can write anyway I want, any style, and if I don’t know that style well then if it attracts me enough I can study it and learn how to do it. So many people want to learn how to do it, and of course you can write like dead people who are called the greats but it’s about more than that, and who knows what that really is.

What is voice? It’s your contribution to the air. Voice is dark matter. Voice is your always growing mind.

Speaking of mind, what’s on mine?

I was thinking that I should write more conformed articles right now in case people check my site out. Maybe I should do that. I don’t know. The thing is I like new voices and real voices, harsh voices and anxious voices. I like happy and sad and up and down voices. I like passion and dreamers and the imagination that gets you by when you don’t have what most of them have to you know, get by.

Oh man. Sleeping means I can’t try to get further out but I need to sleep. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I spent a long time today trying to figure out the name for the main character of my gonzo style journalism book called, ‘A FLASK OF GIN’. I needed what they call, an Author Surrogate. I sat and looked at names like I was having a child or something. It was weirdly time consuming because I know this name is going to have to be around for many years, just like my character Henry Oldfield was a big part of my writing for almost half a decade.

THE NAME. This is one of the most interesting and crazy parts of doing what we say is being a writer. Coming up with a voice that is you and in you, but something that isn’t you at the same time. Strange. Fun. Childish. Something else and who’s to say who’s crazy or not. I think people who want to own my genes are crazy. They think my creative writing is a waste of time, well how much they want for that gene that caused this whole thing….a joke?

I don’t know. Often it feels like you can’t win in this world. I mean, how did we even get here? Maybe sometimes you need to create from what you have, your mind, that’s how humans got out of the tree and found themselves in Plato’s cave but hey, they got out of the cave too, by thinking about damn, what else?

We learned that it’s not about weapons. A shark has more might than one man, but we are in outer space because we can turn away from the battle, we can think our way out of the battle. We can live on by storming with the rage and walking it off. I think this is something we often forget about as a species. I know I forget…sometimes.

We didn’t get here with the sword, we got here with the word, with talking and striving for peace and understanding, and it’s not about money, it’s about the self power you get from giving people the power to live their own damn lives. And I can write about anything, but I like to write about finding your way out when you have, as Henry Miller said, no money, no resources, no hope and I’m the happiest man alive. He said something like that. I’m writing from the top of my head. I’m not going for style. I’m going for communication and the flexing of my memory. But he said that. I wasn’t always sure what he was saying. It seems like a good quote and people use it all the time who don’t even know miller’s body of work, kinda the same way people overuse Camus quotes, such as, in the depths of winter I discovered in me there was an invincible summer…or something like that.

He said she said they said who said? I don’t know. And of course it’s a good thing that people use good quotes and sometimes I do the same thing, but if you want to really learn from the good looking words stop and smell the roses? Bad joke, sorry. Seriously though, think about what the writer was trying to say, that’s a bit more difficult.

Back to the line from Henry Miller; I think he was saying that people believe in everything but what they see in front of them, everything but the physical, everything that cant fight the enemy of the modern day. It’s fine to believe in things like gods and moneys and ideologies, to a certain degree, but the conflicting problem is that invisible things cant fight guns and tanks. Peace can’t be only a Utopian belief system. Never forget that you have to have some action or you’re driving a boat on concrete.

It’s strange. Only a human can get themselves out of human problems. What miller I think was trying to say, is in the end he only has himself, and he knows he will get to where he’s going because he makes up the where. To a certain degree I think he was being a little bit dramatic in that quote because I know he hoped for many things. Life wasn’t easy for him and he was down and out like many great writers have been in the past. He was following the bell curve of manifest destiny. He was following his imagination. He was looking at the real people and the way the real world behaved. By seeing what he did Henry  figured out that in order to find what he was looking for with his writing could only be made if he made it himself. Henry miller said he didn’t have any hopes because he knew humans were essentially good people. He saw this. He wrote about this. He drank to the love he saw. What’s often remembered more so is that He wrote about the savagery that came from those humans with hopes and beliefs mucked up in fear. Wait…

I don’t know. I’m just writing to see what I can find. I had to get away from my new character’s voice. He suffers from the rage. He sees how terrified people are of death. This hoping that you’ll die in peace is the hope that Henry Miller overcame. He knew you shouldn’t hope for what is said to be…after death, because if you do that you contradict with what you’re supposed to do as an organic being, which is to live on and move on and grow out, and please if you can remember always remember to please remember to stop killing innocent people who get no say in the world’s barbarism. Damn…

I’ll stop there. My new character would go on and on and roll out as he’s cracking his Knuckles pacing back and forth. He’s the one with the flask of gin. His name is (I think) Auden Wyatt. 


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