learn to take a compliment. jesus.

1 April 2011 § Leave a comment

Twice in a week I’ve been subject to some sort of complimentary praise for my writing on this site. It’s important to note that I did not bribe them into saying those things, and any truth in them is probably still up in the air. I’ve learned to take the more subtle signs of appreciation in stride: ever since my article on pot inked, my editor makes sure to ask if I’m high at the office. I may have asked for that, but at least I know he read it.

I also learned today that there are other people who have gone through the tragedy of losing a notebook. – And this ties in with why I’m here right now, so stay with me (I know I’m a little off-kilter in person, but character is determined by how we react to the world around us, so let’s balance the world out with some forgiveness, can we?).

A couple of weeks before New York, on some terrible night after I had crashed my car and afterward bought the Suzuki lawnmower sedan, I lost my moleskine that I had started on the Europe trip in December. It was precious to me, sure, but I blocked the longing with some positive thought about how the reward for returning to the owner I’d written on the inside cover was ‘truth’ instead of dollars, and maybe someone found it entertaining and kept it. Hey, I’m okay with that. That was the point, get it out in the world and out of my head.

Yeah. Sure.

So I stopped writing for a while, and instead concentrated on writing for the paper. It’s a different sort of style entirely, and I can feel it affecting this, here, now. Time is an illusion. You’re meant to be here now, because it’s all there is, and more importantly, it’s all you have.

“God damn his possessions! What we’re after is what they are as men.”

Remember that, sean. Write your play. After reading that last script, and editing those reviews, you can do anything.

Buddy Wakefield came up here last week. He is the first person I’ve ever heard invite me to participate a little more in my existence, and for more than a few very basic reasons, this saddens me. But having that seat beside to take my heartache and put it aside for the evening was more than I would have asked for.

He said a lot of real shit. And it takes the cover of poetry to tell us these things which would have been great to know back in the day, but it’s okay because when we learn it ourselves, we can better recognize it’s description later, and then refine it. So that’s what I’m doing. Refining the message.

Which is okay, right? I have to ask because my willingness to overcome my purpose sometimes gets the best of me.

My audacity on my own terms is perfectly acceptable to me: when I am alone, something like hitchhiking across a country doesn’t sound in the least bit crazy – by the time someone else reacts to that, I’m already planning my route. And even with other people, I push the bounds until I know where they are, and then push a little more to see if it’s real. Sometimes it is, and that’s where truth lies. Break out the xtra-tuffs; it’s messy in here.

But I think that I can never be too audacious when I’m talking about me – the less you know, the better, and I’ll tell you only enough to get by. Self-promotion is out of the question. I don’t want to tell you what I’ve done, or where I’ve been. But then it comes up, and it’s awkward, and I’m more inclined to tell you the truth about that trip instead of the fabulous and unrealistic details you’re asking about. And if more people knew the individual truths about travel, less people would do it. But those who find it, must. I can’t stress this enough, but I also could not give you a more sincere suggestion than to step out of your life and go travel the world for a couple of years – hit the road hard, non-stop, and never say ‘no’ to an experience.

I’m digressing from some point I had an hour ago, all of it a distraction, a thought exercise so I don’t have to think about that. Read your books. They can say it better than you are.

I’m up with you, Libya. Never stop fighting.

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