It has been the subject of many a conversation, and the ruling; despite encouragement from dear friends and pleasant strangers across the years, I am much-too-all-over-the-place to ever be able to write a book properly. A sentence struggles to finish itself as the pen stops, drops – staccato beat – to my body ballet dancing bullet through the house, searching for where I may have left the guitar. Along the way I sneeze and hear in it the continuation of yesterday’s trumpet solo, double back, bee-bop, bust my chops for a minute, wonder how it’d look painted.

//

Brush my teeth, comb my hair.

Ten-A-M, getting nowhere. 

//

Coffee done, French press gunk dumped

Pace around a bit, tuck shirt into pants

Pants–’n–t’–socks, socks––t’–boots

And hey, the sun’s out, light’s on, and

“I’ve just gotta walk around in that!”

//

The rest of the unfinished sentence will come to me later on in the day, along the way to wherever I’m going. Sidewalk passersby – they look for the most part, a little glum. A little morose about their existence in general, which is concerning to me, but to each their own, I suppose. They don’t catch my smile. I want to say, “Hey! Welcome! We’re in this thing!”

//

I want to let them know

I want them to 

Hear the sound

See the color

Feel the form

Understand the words

Dance the dance

//

I have always been compelled to share bits of my world with others, not that I have anything special to offer; I am dreadfully ordinary, unique as any other.

//

Impulse

Insight

Intuition

Selfish

Compelling

Wishing to be

Compelled

//

All are ever too young to be wise; we’re only eager.

//

The notebooks pile up and up, finished and unfinished, but spent

Guitar strings bust, spit valves rust, dust clouds, bus tickets

And there are indeed boxes of photographs

Traces of melodies, movements

Memories of people and place and time

Licensing ephemerality

//

And there, some melancholic nostalgia for things to come and a compulsive, immediate sense of optimism.

//

No psychologist, no editor, no way to write a book properly.

//

I’m making a god damn blog.