the author not the writer

Where do I begin? Over the past two weeks I’ve been endlessly devouring information as is so easy to do in the interwebs. Where has it gotten me? I have no fucking idea. One aspect of my personality that never seems to go away is this feeling of always wanting to do something, always on the verge of something great. Who knows if it’s simply remnants of childhood dreams of escape or if it’s adult escapism.

In an attempt to better understand myself I always ponder about my motivation to do “something.” For a long long time now, since my early teens I reckon, I’ve wanted to be a writer. I always pictured myself as a writer, doing readings and interviews, thumbing through the pages of my own books and admiring the fonts and page layouts. But therein lays the joke which I played on myself. I mean, I could I suppose, blame the joke on my ego. That is if there were a way to separate the I from the I. But their ain’t no way. So the joke is this: all I ever dreamed about was the fame and not the written word!

Big surprise eh! What a fucking brilliant mind I have. Well it’s probably why instead of writing wholeheartedly over the past twenty years I’ve got a half a book shelf of half scribbled-in journals and notebooks with hardly a word worth reading, and I don’t mean public reading, I mean me reading. I keep luggin the goddamned journals first from town to city, then across country and finally across the continent. And for what? Inspiration, material, nostalgia? I’ll tell you why –it’s a central theme in this here blog and for most blogs I guess. It’s for ego. Simple.

I mean who doesn’t want a legacy? Who wants to be forgotten? And who doesn’t want some recognition of their humanity within their own lifetime, even while they still have some youthful vigor? I’ll let you answer that one.

So here I am. Left to my own devices I’ll continue to devour information on the interwebs which will do me absolutely no favors. It’s a tedious life this life. Lucky for me there’s more to my life than ego and misinformation. Moe and B are waiting at home for to me cook super together, play together and dream together.

•