Halfway through my second double shift in a row. Hard to move, really.
So last night’s experiment in kindness went well: I didn’t get stressed out and there were no real assholes. Coincidence? Maybe.
I tried it again this morning and it went well. I feel pretty good about it.
Now I’m supposed to remember to enjoy life and be playful. Great. Sounds like something I will really excel at…
Here’s something I thought about this morning:
It’s more fun to be seen reading the New Yorker than it is to read the New Yorker.
I’m just guessing since I don’t read it, but seems true.
Fuck the dumb shit man it’s time to get active. Easy to get pissed off when you’re drinking whiskey and reading other people’s success stories so fuck em let em read their own shit. I’d rather read about other people’s depression.
I’m getting back in the “I’m going to write shit for money” mood so I am writing a lot today. I wrote a lot yesterday, too, so that’s a writing spree right there.
When I was walking through the city yesterday on my way from one job to the next, I was thinking about that bitch at work who always yells at me for some dumb shit. And then I realized I shouldn’t think about that bitch on my own time so I didn’t. I also realized I should stop thinking about shit while I’m walking through the city and think about walking through the city instead and I’ve wanted to live here for a while so might as well enjoy it.
The city smells like shit and when I woke up this morning my apartment smelled like shit because Sister fed her cat and cat food smells like shit. But fuck it, it was a good morning. I saw a three piece mariachi band on the subway yesterday.
I didn’t even drink yesterday. I came home and went to get beer and ended up in the shower and then my ass was sleep. I guess a byproduct of waking up early but I think the whole thing is I’m ready to write some shit down that forms a cohesive pattern. Some kind of story.
Robert McKee, who until recently I only know from that movie Adaptation, says in his book Story:
Mere occurrence brings us nowhere near the truth. What happens is fact, not truth. Truth is what we think about what happens.
I never thought I gave a shit too much about truth but I think I just had the wrong idea about the definition.
The Goodreads quote of the day today is from Richard Feynman:
Nobody ever figures out what life is all about, and it doesn’t matter. Explore the world. Nearly everything is really interesting if you go into it deeply enough.
Yeah that’s pretty good. Who cares what it’s all about, just find something to be interested in for a hundred years and you won’t have to worry about it anyway.
Sometimes I think about living in the moment and then I think I am living in the moment or trying to and then I think well when I’m dying will I look back and remember this moment and think well I was really living there, so that’s great. I think when I’m dying I won’t be able to remember anything I did, except sleep a lot. I’m the best at sleeping.
I really like these lyrics from “The Two Sides of Monsieur Valentine” by Spoon:
He makes love to the duke
He sword fights the queen
He steals the whole show
In his last dying scene
I like dukes and queens and kings and things like that in songs, like in Bob Dylan’s “Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts,” or in Captain Beefheart’s “Party of Special Things to Do.”
I remember this one time my friend and I were driving down this backwoods ass road that no one else was on but some wild looking animals and this sign was there that said, “Now Entering a Wild Area,” all official government like. No idea what that meant at all but we had been driving for ten or eleven hours at that point and things didn’t look good. The imagination ran wild and we threw on Rob Zombie‘s Greatest Hits. That shit was trippy. I don’t usually like scary things, and I was scared as fuck, especially since I wasn’t driving, but it’s fun to remember.
I was thinking today about memory and the future and such. I was thinking that the best thing to do is to consider the present a kind of workshop for making memories. And then completely forget about the future. And consider memories the foundation of my perception of life, and either focus on them or what is happening right now, and rarely think about the future. Because thinking about the future is where anxiety and dread come in, along with in some cases however rare excitement and anticipation. But who knows if there will be a future, so why dread it, and anyway dread just kills any pleasure you feel in the present.
It’s just another way of thinking about living in the moment. I always think about living in the moment but of course that’s easier said than done. So I was thinking that if my mind does wander, I should just think of memories, instead of making conjectures about the future.