The Division In My Writing Projects (What From Far Out There Is About)

Beside my collections…I’ve recently realized that I have two roads or sections of what make up my body of work. My hope is in the next couple years I can sit down and make a third road, a new novel, a new form in my writing detached from these roads, and I could do it, but I’m all about completing what I started, and that means this is taking a long time to dig out of. So as some of the readers of this blog know I have a series called Adventures of a Dying Young Man. That is fiction. The other side of my writing are my more spontaneous novels that focus more on my real life (as I’ve said it should be called fiction because it’s surreal and not objectively journalistic…and the memory…well that’s an interesting conversation in itself)…anyway I discovered that my newest book that’s coming out soon called From Far Out there…is a sequel to my first book that people purchased…called A Spontaneous Revolution. That book is about when I graduated college and didn’t know what to do so I got on a greyhound bus and hung around Florida for a while. It’s out of print right now and I started working on the second edition to fix some of the young writing mistakes that I made back then (it was written in 2008ish) but it probably won’t be out sooner than december of this year or early 2015 because of time reasons… that is unless From Far Out There has reasonable above average sales and people want the first narrative right away. But I don’t expect that to be the case so those who do buy it will have to wait a bit longer for that book. But I just wanted to write this because I think it’s important to realize what this book is about. From Far Out There…is about coming back and writing around people who don’t (or care to) understand the young writer (as well as the condition for the young non academic american writer within the collapse and transformation of the very foundation of the publishing and newspaper industry that we as a society took for granted until basically I got out of school) and the young writer who doesn’t understand the people he was born from. It’s about trying to write my novels in chaos and loud noises and how my novels (fiction) started to happen within reality. It’s about growing older and trying not to make the same mistakes over and over again. It’s about living and that’s it.

Below is a half edited section from the second edition of A Spontaneous Revolution. I think it’s interesting for historical reasons and setting. A lot has changed in six or seven years. My generation has become a little bit older. There are probably some mistakes, but if you read it remember it’s only early drafts of the second printing proofs. Also, this is a ton of work. Thank you for reading. Peace.


Driving downtown we settled on this pub called The Independent. The place was a trendy and fashionable bar that sold nine dollar pints of mud, and so it’s safe to say this is not the usual scene for someone like me…you know, someone who rides into town on the Greyhound bus with only ten dollars to his name…you know, just someone like that…
…anyway but I am a good drinker and luckily my pal…well Cameron assured me that this night was on him, but there was only one stipulation: I had to play his wing-man.  My Pal wanted to have sex badly and just got turned down from a woman, some girl who painted nicely and who he desperately loved, or so that’s what I was told, and I said maybe you should move on and he agreed. And so moving on what He needed was sex with some unknown woman, so in theory he could clear the slate of his emasculated head…and yeah so be it, I’d do what I could do to help with the talking…even though, I’m not a good talker, and truthfully the bar when you’re in your late twenties is never hard to figure out. Sexuality, booze and good music…yeah…this is what it’s all about. Real easy stuff…
We just tossed back one beer and two shots of tequila. The next round is on the way and Cameron’s eyes are everywhere. He keeps playing with his beard and just then the outside doors open and right away Cameron notices that it’s one of his old friends. Waved down the man walks over to our table and says “SON OF A BITCH”. “Sounds about right” My pal said and, “Andrew, so this is Chris… the town hero”, and so what I didn’t care and giving him the peace sign I didn’t say anything as Cameron and the guy start talking about life. As this is going down the music keeps playing and I keep smiling and drinking and drinking and smoking and drinking. I’m drunk and can hardly see straight, and at this point of the night I really don’t give a shit about anything that is happening around me because I’m drunk and detached from the chaos of sobriety. The Crew Cut, well he’s a Photographer, and right away He asks me what I “do”? I tell him that “I’m a writer”. He tells me that he’s “jealous and wishes” he could “write”. I say “don’t be…. I’m poor” and then I light a cigarette and take a large sip of my beer. All three of us laugh for some reason and still nothing is funny, and then Chris goes right back at it and my pal Cameron listens and shakes and plays with his beard and his eyes roll from left to right scoping out the situation. The Photographer keeps talking, there’s no break in the action, and I don’t have anything to say so I just keep nodding and blowing smoke-rings up into the air. It’s a good time but not a great time, and the Photographer is looking straight ahead, he’s not even looking at Cameron or at me as he talks but goes on and on and says that in two months he’s going to travel from London to Beijing by motorcycle and how after a six month detour he just arrived back in Florida from his adventures in Alaska.
“Isn’t that great” he said.
“That’s pretty damn great” I said.
“What you think about this Cameron, I can tell you’re still that bitter old man…”
“Fuck off” Cameron said.
And so get this, the Photographer… well he’s getting commissioned by National Geographic to take pictures of The Recession and of the closed down schools and factories all across the United States.
“Real good stuff Cameron said” and yeah, his pal was a show off. I didn’t care but I could tell Cameron cared because His old high school buddy was breaking news when he was in town; this photographer named Chris made it known that he was super legit. I was drunk…everything was legit to me.
The banter continued and I said “what about the girls?” “Girls can wait” the old pal said, “Me and Cameron have some catching up to do”. “Cool” I said and man I thought that I was on the road…. but this guy, this thirty seven year old Don Quixote started a million dollar business at only the age of thirty, and from what I could make out of his words (because of the mixture of booze and careless listening on my part) Chris sells cancer diagnostic equipment to hospitals all over the country, and thinking this was somehow ironic I started to think about what this idea of ironic really was and if I knew or if I was confused with my concepts, but at the same time I was playing the part and being a good pal so I kept my ears open while a legendary explorer kept going on and on in telling the entire bar about his Global conquests.
“My industry is basically recession proof” Chris said.
“Yeah, so is mine” I said.
“Oh yeah really, what do you do again?”
“I’m a writer” I said and laughed and it’s not funny but Cameron laughs….and…well I forgot he was still here and Chris slams the table with his hand and laughs. Everyone laughs. Nothing is funny and “Oh yeah I forgot, I wish I could write, and I try but I can’t write any more than a couple lines, and then I give up. Man if I could write about my travels I bet I’d be famous.”
“Yeah it’s hard work pal, and I’m not even that good at it”… and this is what I’m trying to explain but it doesn’t matter because nothing makes sense and everyone knows it, that’s why Chris shakes his head and “SAYS YOU LITTLE BITCH” and I watch as Cameron’s soul leaves his body, and so with everyone hating each other and drunk and laughing I start to pull out my notebook in order to show the party some of my writing…but of course I’ll never get the chance to do this.
“Recession proof! You hear that Cameron, a writer and an entrepreneur, two of the only people alive who are recession proof” Chris said.
“Yeah, I don’t have any money to lose so I guess that makes me immune to the swine’s decline” I said and rhyme and Chris gets a kick out of this and laughs like a king at a feast that is held after an honorable day of battle. Next He walks away and as soon as he does Cameron and I roll our eyes and twist our heads, as to say, what the hell is going on?
After a couple minutes of silence we give up and start to tap our fingers on the soulless art that is called a deco table, but before we know what hit us Chris comes back with three shots of the most expensive Vodka you can buy…
“To being Recession proof…”
“RECESSION PROOF” I say and Cameron says something in his head but nothing out loud and then all three of us gulp the alcohol and then we slam the tiny glasses on the counter and the photographer continues on with his masturbatory conversation. This makes Cameron laugh and so Christopher laughs and Andrew laughs; we’re all laughing and everyone is laughing, the entire bar is laughing and everyone is drunk. I still don’t really give a shit. Where the hell are all the women at?
Ten or fifteen minutes of listening to this guy talk and I’m way too drunk for my own good, and by the looks of things there aren’t many single women digging my style in this Independent establishment. I guess my white t-shirt and my dirty shoes and my red cardigan are not an aphrodisiac in these parts, but on the other hand Chris is wearing a leather jacket and has gel in his gray hair. I don’t like him and I’ll never tell him but honestly what is up with his tiny gold earring that is hanging like a noodle from his ear, and I know exactly why Cameron doesn’t like him because I don’t like him either. This lazy fat boy doesn’t know how to tell a story and he nothing but a loser. He’s the hot shot and type of guy that all of my ex-girlfriends would fall for after they left me. Chris had what they thought I had but as time went on the girls learned that I’ll never take them vacationing in Europe.
Shut up man I don’t care Cameron said under his breath
Tell him that story for real I said
Tell me what?
And Cameron didn’t say anything and so his old high school pal chimed back in and said you little bitch to him again.
Great nicknamed I said
I know he said, and this Chris fella was a real asshole. He acted like he was dirty Harry in the flesh, a real life Bridges to Madison County, and I don’t hate him for this…no…not at all; I don’t even feel jealousy creep into my soul and this actually surprised me a bit, especially after the doors opened and his girls walked in with heels and breasts hanging out like lunch, and he told them to sit over there and wait for him because he had to catch up with his old little bitch. They smiled and kissed the air and then the girls sat down and he continued talking. I thought he was hilarious but I was also ready to break his damn face open if Cameron needed me to do that, but no I didn’t hate him, and even the fact that Chris had three gorgeous blondes with him didn’t trouble me. I was totally relaxed…sure, this was confusing because for once I liked who I was, and this man who seemingly had it all didn’t threaten my state of mind. I wasn’t sure how this was possible because he had it all and I wanted it all, or so I thought, but at this moment I didn’t want anything he had. I wasn’t mad and I’m not sure why, maybe it’s because I was drunk.
“I’m going to be all over the place this year…so Cameron, what you doing, still fixing houses or whatever little bitches do?
“I suppose man” Cameron said. 
“A toast” I said
“To what” Chris said. 
“To Nothing” I said.

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