I worked 16 hours yesterday and I am doing the same today. But this werid thing happens to me when I become deprived. My mind and sex drive go into hyperdrive, werid right. Well, the bonner meter is almost alway in the red-zone so nothing new there but once those mental juices get going I have a habit of picking up a pen and writing. I have a name for it now, The Mental Vomit. It is were my brain just emptiess all over some poor writing tablet or note book. Then if I am lucky I wont throw it away and put it some place safe. Most of my mental vomits have been lost or just trashed. I am werid, but I am about to attempt to put my newest addition to my new collection. Mental Vomit Volume one:
(ps this might get a little strange so dont worry if you cannt follow. not everyone can be as cool as my left nut)
Volume 1 :
I read storys about things I inspire to be and what it comes down to is this: No matter what you
think about your dream job, the moment you have to do; it is no longer fun. Exercising, writing, and hell even running wild would get old hat fast. Dreamers have a vision of where they want to be but the fact fantasy is always better than reality does not reach them in time.
How many people try to become one thing and then strive to be another? The Hollywood dream shows us this over and over again. Fame and fortune is not what everyone needs. If that were so someone with everything would not end up sucking the load out of Remington Double Oh.
Happiness and inner peace can only be found by oneself; jobs suck and gas prices will never be as low as they were when you were 18. To help me, I have kept a journal since I was 19. I had ones when I was a teen but I am my own worst critic and have destroyed them out of embarassment. The writing was so childish and pages filled with childhood nonsense. But now I miss those journals, and even though I hate my step father and have not spoken to him since 1995 he was the one that encouraged me to keep a journal. He gave me my first journal when I was in the 3rd grade. From that I wrote speraticlly but eventually realized it was something I loved to do. It is my history I am writing.
I have never climbed the Rockies nor have I charged the hills of San Juan but its my story. One I can relate to and reminisce about. It is my life and to be honest I love every bit of my life. The good, the bad and the nasty. I look back and see my first marriage and see why I left, the mind seems to delete the bad and we forget why we left. My journal has helped me remeber, it helps me remeber I was broke, in bedt and happy when I was making $9.75 an hour and that I am still broke, still in bedt, making almost twice as much but still happy. Hell, happier (if that is even a word haha).
My journal will be with me to the end of my days, my compaion of the olden years. My only regret about my journals is that one of them will forever be lost. My car was stole last year and in it was, among other things, my journal. All the other things were replace with credit cards but no amount of money could buy or replace the times that were in those pages. Car, broken but still working; stolen radio, 6th ave put in a new one; school books, re-bought; a broke sewing machine, who gives a fuck; my work bag, new one bought at Wilsons Leather; car seat, they out grow them anyway; my journal, gone forever. I hope that it is sitting somewhere waiting for me to find it, as long as there is a maybe we can all dream.
My writing is more of an hobby or an escape than anything.I, like so many others, dream of being published. But my slap dash ways and issues with finishing will keep that fantasy in limbo. By no means with this hinder my spurts of inspiration and fits of writing bliss. I just have to keep this running journal of Mental Vomiting and not over critis it and not sending it into the fire place. Hell, if I keep this journal up maybe in a few years I can see if some publishing company will just put it in print for my own amusments.
As I mentioned I am my own worst critic and often abandon or destroy projects. Most of them were doomed in the think-tank level but I still took the time to wrtie them. I have taken (and currently still taking) writing classes that have given me the formula to writing. All I have to do is input my own DNA and clone out a book. But I do not want a pile of literary crap that will end up in a shoping store asile next to those romance porn novels. You know, the ones with the overly muscled guys with the women that look like they are seconds from wetting themselves from the big O. That is not what I want, it would be like the aborted fetus that lived and became the bastard child of the pope. If I ever get past the wall of my own journals I would want it to be something of me and not some cheap ploy at mediocrity. The book I want to put out will be everything all the writing teachers have ever told me was not the way to write. I will write in first person, misspell everything, use words like alot and fuck alot, double negatives, use text messaging language, never us any format to cite a source (fuck the person who came up with the APA format), and reject all that has been known as the right way to write.
I would read books written like this, I think more books of better quality would be written if we all forgot what our English teachers told us. I am not saying that everyone should down grade our wonderful language and literary ways, but this stale King Bush life we have now is just to ridgid for me. I am not looking to make a best seller or to even make money of this project. I think some of the best writing has come from people that did it just for the fuck of it. Harry Potter books are suffering this curse. Her first books were the above and beyon even if they were written for children. But now the pressure is on to write and write her life away to keep this character going in all kinds of fantasic ways. Level of these books has dwendeled and the plot lines are suffering.
We need to break out of the hopes of making money off of our writing and just write what we know about. Harry Potter was just one of many storys that have suffered the midas touch. His gift was a curse and if you know what that means then we are all on the same page. If I have to exsplain why the midas touch was bad then I think you need to stop reading my Mental Vomit Volumes. There is no point trying to exsplain it, I can not. It is an understanding that some have, its like trying to exsplain shadow people and how someone that is clynically insane can call maddness home. And feel comforted by their warped sense that they know aliens have invaded their bodies.
Where am I going with this? There is no real way to end this stream of thought. It will most likely end up trashed or shoved in the back of a drawer. Right about the same place I found this spiral note book I am writing in.
Until then I will keep the manic pace and feel the release of getting this freenzy out of me. It happenes alot, this paniced writing everytime I become sleep deprived. This Menatl Vomit has taken down so many trees, but then again I am not much of a conservationist. I really do not care about owls, habitates or some way ward hippie that lives in a tree. Cut the fucker down, I need my paper!
I want gas in my car and my weekly check signed. These are the things that signify a good life. And as these pages turn anyone will see a lack of an outline and that I loose focus from time to time. But then again it cool with me. Reject all that makes a master peice and go out and forge your own way. Make grammatical mistakes, dont use punctuation and end sentences with nightmarish grammatical horror shows.
I am tired of being shot down by overly educated lit professors because my way is not 'The Way' I write without the fear of the red pen and I am not about to stop now. I would never hand in my journal for a spell check or grammatical correcting. If it is wrong now it was wrong back when I wrote it and it did not seem to bother anyone. But from what I have seen I think if I can just get all of this down I might make some head way. Not sure in what but anything going forward is best.
I can get published, if King Bush can become president after proving over and over again he is a failur; I can make writing more than something I do when I when I am strung out on a deprivation vison quest. And yes you can get high without drugs. But only the strong can survive these trips. Anyone can pop a pill, snort a powder or smoke something made from starter fuild and battery acid. But it takes someone with true yarbels to take on the less traveled road. You want to see shit, try not sleeping for 3 days just out of sheer will to stay awake (and coffee). Deprivation is what the once great natiaves did. Go into the woods and go without food, sleep and water, hang yourself from your pec muscles and eat rotting cactus plants. And I will put money on an alter state of thinking. These were men made from leather flint not krispy kreams and lard. Ever think some fat body could survive a trip like that?
I am about to go on day two with little sleep and god only knows what will happen. As much as I bitch about it I do like depriving myself sometimes, it really puts you on edge. If you like speed this is a trip you might want to try. I like uppers myself, I have even posted about a few of my (legal) favorties. Red Line, Red Bull, Stackers, and plan old coffee. I do not like the feeling of being sleepy and tired. Booze always puts me to sleep, that is why I will drink coffee while I drink booze or pop some reds (even thought they are the ones most junkies know of).
This whole idea of popping pills to feel good is ruining people. People want to feel good, be skinny, have muscles and get erections for 4 hours. But they really do not want to do the work that really is nessicary to achieve these things. Well except the 4 hour hard on, I have yet to find anything that can cause that without the help of that little blue pill. Fat people want to loose weight, depressed people want to feel normal and guys want big arms. All of these things can be obtained, if you work at it. Pills can help but they are not the cure all the governmnet wants to believe they are.
I do not make excuses for my lack of sensitivity towards others. It is not because I am mean and dont care......well alot of times it is......its because this is how I feel. If you dont agree, good! I would love to talk with you. I prefer to talk with someone who is on the other side of the fence anyway. A good debate is a great way to get the old blood pumping in the morning. Ever get into an argument and by the time it was over nothing was resolved but you felt like you had just ran a mile standing still? The lock of wills in a death match in over time, and this is what we are missing here. I say things sometimes to just get a rise out of people. I do not always believe what I vomit up, I just want to see if I can stur something up. So many ppl I see are walking around in a daze of over stimulation without enough confrintaion.
(This was taken out of a note book I found last night that I started writing in. I have added to it here on the blog but not the notebook. It, the notebook, has to be updated now. Fun equals work sometimes haha)
To be continued:
I am in the home stretch for my vacation. Nothing big just some time away from it all. I hope to drink too much, try not to eat too much, take tons of pictures and just be lazy. I have not been to Wildwood beach in yearssssss. Hell the last time I just drove through, did not even stop. And the time before that was in 1994 with an ex girl friend. It was the year I wore my fav teeshirt that I am sure my mom threw out on me...it read 'Silly Faggots Dicks are For Chicks' I thought it was funny, and still do!
