L U S T F O R L I F E

you know you’ve grown when you realize it all works out

it isn’t friday. it isn’t knock-off. time is just a construct.

it isn’t happy hour drinks and thirsty thursdays and free drinks before 10 at the rooftop bar saturday night. the sun comes up then tumbles down, but the routine ways of living life don’t matter.

there’s just you and the ways you’ve learned to care for your body-mind instrument. there’s the things you need to do for yourself, to keep a smile on your face and a roof on your head, and then there’s the passion that sets you alight.

Larry McMurtry on Neal Cassady:

“I think what I think is that too much has been written about Cassady already. He was obviously a great stimulus to Kerouac and Ginsberg and they responded to the stimulus by making him into a quasi-mythological figure. The Green Automobile and Visions of Cody are perhaps the best writing about Cassady. The rest – and there is a lot – is self-repetitious and considerably less inspired.

To me he seemed like a rather common Western type: the cowboy, roughneck, dozer driver or whatever who is enormously capable physically and has added to that capability random scraps of ill-absorbed education.

there are hundreds of such people about the west… they’re all a little crazy. They can do anything with a machine or an animal. They accumulate two or three wives and passels of kids and girlfriends. They run all over the place, drinking, fucking, fighting, talking interestingly at times and boringly at others.

to most people these days i have nothing to say  -- evolution comes and you want to roll over and say “five more minutes” but human beings are made to evolve as mysterious universal powerful like a seed evolution in our DNA

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i got blessed by john ibrahim at a quiz night one night and woke up a new person

it might not have been him and it wasn’t exactly the next day

but everything since then has been certainly strange

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i think i just woke up i guess i just woke up

-- piecing together my mysterious night from the placement of my keys in the bag and the ATM receipts

even that’s an anachronism nowadays if i was to write a story about it

nothing real anymore no possibility of buying a train ticket for a stranger no address book no ticket stubs

then me disembodied via combination of 9.4 standard drinks and a gram of cocaine smiling out at me from the nightclub photograph i don’t remember posted on Facebook 

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i want to create something big and beautiful the best, the most meaningful but you can’t create under those circumstance. you can’t...

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my boss is like a ringmaster and we’re in the back singing and it’s the best fun. I’d rather be doing that then 4 pills deep on the dance floor i’d rather be doing that than cocaine but it’s a grind. always such a grind. --

and i know how to make it work. known this whole time. i need time and alone time. and i got to... schedule that in the diary and i got to shut my phone down and surrender and i’m in the kind of place now where i could just not ever have contact with people other than my cashier at the supermarket and be happy fulfilled and i got enough good supermarket cashier karma built up for them always to be a blessing but coincidentally at the same time overcommitted myself to fuck so ... when will the time come for me?