A little something to read every
day, or, my attempt at the daily meditation gig.
I started working on this book in 1997. I actually
made an entry every day for an entire year.
Of course, it has evolved since then, and that's
putting it mildly. It was originally titled, Calendar, An
Invitation to Write. I had in mind a book that might be of
some help to aspiring writers. Consequently, I went out of my
way to be deliberatly provocative, enough to possibly inspire
a prospective young writer to take their pen in hand and create
some sort of (written) response. Today, I don't even acknowledge
that the book is from me, at least not directly. Whenever
I'm asked about it, my response is, I must admit, a bit cryptic.
"I didn't write the thing," I say, "I created a
fictitious character to write it for me."
Introduction:
I hate introductions. Nobody reads them. But the editor asked
me to write one, so what the hell. Most everything I wrote in
this book is bullshit, but I reckon that doesn't matter. People
look at bullshit all the time on TV, and in the movies. It's been
a long time since I read a good book too, one that wasn't crammed
full of horseshit, like piles and piles of it. When it comes to
watching television and movies and reading books though, I guess
the thing that matters most is entertainment. Who gives a damn
whether or not it's bullshit?
And (I gotta say) I think this book is entertaining (if I do
say so myself). It's an easy read. That's number one. And for
number two, you got the fact that there's just a small amount
to read, like every day. It's like, nobody should have an excuse
for not reading it.
I’m not exactly sure why I wrote the damn thing, but sometime
near the end of 1996 I got this wild hair up my ass and decided
that for 1997 I was going to keep a journal. Maybe it had something
to do with the fact that I was turning fifty in 1997. I don’t
know. But the more I think about it, the more it looks like that
was probably it. It had to be something like that, because nothing
else makes sense. I mean, think about it, why would anyone want
to take the time (I’m talking every goddamn day!) to write
something down in a bullshit journal?
If nothing else, it sure as hell looks like I didn’t have
much else to do, which is most likely true. I had this house in
the suburbs, which was a royal pain in the ass. It was built in
1958, and whoever built it made the unholy decision to erect its
walls right next to one of those humongous oak trees. By the time
I took possession of it (in 1996), the tree was overwhelming,
beautiful, but overwhelming. There were actually three of them.
One was right in the middle of the driveway. Can you imagine?
Anyway, I spent way too much time picking up the litter from those
trees. Yeah, I had a lot to do. Right.
A lot of the stuff I wrote had to do with God. And I no sooner
say that than I realize that it really had nothing whatsoever
to do with God, just people’s ideas about God, most of which,
in my opinion, are total bullshit. I also wrote a lot of stuff
about Life, and I mean Life with a capital ‘L,’ not
some particular person’s melodramatic meaningless life (including
my own), but that big thing called “Life,” that nobody
seems to know a damn thing about, but which they seem mighty interested
in, and sometimes go around acting like they know a hell of a
lot about it.
I’ve come to the conclusion that nobody knows a damn thing,
except maybe that, that they don’t know shit, which is yet
another reason that it doesn't matter that this book is filled
with bullshit. Anything that anyone would say to discredit whatever
I said would be bullshit too. And that means that all the shinola
in this book is nothing but my feelings, and it seems to me that,
if there is anything you need to be honest about it’s your
own feelings. I mean, what the fuck else do you have? Nothing.
Nada. You ain’t got jack shit dude, but your own feelings.
That’s it. So why fool yourself? Say what the hell you mean,
man. Get the shit out of your mouth and say what the fuck is on
your mind. And when you’re finished, shut the fuck up, which,
to be perfectly honest, is something I think everybody in the
whole world needs to do from time to time (especially the politicians):
shut the fuck up.
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