Friday, December 26, 2008


There was a blizzard this night on the way from Boston to NYC on the Chinatown bus and I was lost in my own silence looking out the window as the trees, lights, mile-markers and landscape passed us by. I looked up the sky with a longing of some sort that I always feel when I look up to the big vast openness that seems to be this life I lead. The heat was pouring out of the overhead vents and I was listening to music on the way down. I was thinking how I hadn’t been to the city in about 14 years or so. The last time I was there I was about 10 years old or so and I remember that so well. My parents brought me down there to experience the city and there were pigeons everywhere. 

We did a lot of the touristy things like went to the statue of liberty, central park, the empire state building. I saw the Guinness book of world records museums inside of the empire. I had read that book so many times and loved it and always wondered why people set such odd goals and ambitions. Seems so silly to have the longest fingernails, the longest hair, the fastest motorcycle rider but I guess you can do anything with your life and if that’s what you come up with then so be it. I remember the cabs and the buses and the business of it all. Long gray overcoats, homeless people, small carts that sold hot dogs and hamburgers and other essentials of junk food. I remember how cold it was as well but one thing I remember the most that I am just realizing now is that night when we arrived back to our home in a small town called Ware, Mass I saw a shooting star fall right in front of my eyes, literally. It shot very fast in front of me and my parents even saw it so it wasn’t just some figment of my imagination which I have been known to wander off with. 

It was a real live one and it burnt all the way up in front of me and it's funny now to look back at that and remember that because now after living in the city for over four years or so now it makes a lot of sense that without my having known it at the time, that must have been my wish fulfilled. I don’t remember wishing for anything, I just remember following the road, following that spaciness that everyone in school used to say I was, always the kid with a dream, always the kid lost in space, always somewhere else. Some people think that it is some sort of escapism, or magical trick to not deal with reality, the artist in me. But then I read into that a bit more and wonder if that is really true. Is it true that if you have a dream and someone doesn’t, are you the one lost in space or is that dream very real. I don’t doubt that the dream is real; I have so many experiences to show for all of my thoughts and feelings. Things I can’t even begin to tell you in this small paragraph about something different. 

This is going back in time to see where we are now and I don’t even know where I am now, never mind trying to figure out what everything meant then. The frame of mind I had then and the frame of mind now is totally different and I can feel it and see it. I can see the walls building up around me as I keep smashing them down, I keep smashing my own down and then people around me keep telling me to put them back up, people all around me keep telling me who I am, what I am supposed to believe in and I just don’t buy any of it anymore. 

There's nothing left to believe in, there never was in the first place, it was all useless things to scatter the mind with, to keep it busy, and to keep it going into a different place that doesn’t even exist. I have traveled in many places inside and outside myself. If you are reading this, then I know you know you have been with me whether it was for a short time or a medium time or a long time or you are still here with me. You have seen me at my worst, my most mediocre, my best, you have seen me fly really high and smash down to the ground, you have seen me want to completely destroy myself and then build myself back up and up and up and then you have seen me docile, meek and eager, searching for something, searching for nothing, not giving a fuck about anything, caring too much about everything, I have yelled and screamed at you, I have cried with you, I have laughed with you, I have done mischievous things with you, I have gotten drunk with you, I have gotten stoned out of my mind with you and talked endlessly about the span of time, about the life we live, about the death that is always around the corner, I, I, I, I, and I have even gone from I to we, we have had sex together for hours on end, for minutes of futile passions, we have fucked in all kinds of places, in bathrooms, in other people’s homes, in our apartment together, in your apartment alone, with other people laying next to us, we have kissed passionately to the point of complete ecstasy, we have gotten drunk off of love, so drunk that the world never existed anywhere else but in that moment, we have left our body, we have left our mind, we have left our own lives and acted out these otherworldly roles that we could never live up to, we have made so many promises to each other, we have let things happen, we have forced things to happen, we have even told each other to fuck off and never seen each other ever again, we have done so many things that I could keep going on and on and on about it. We have made each other realize a lot, we have pissed each other off a lot, we have projected our hopes and dreams, we have projected our futures and our pasts and the he said, she said conversation topic that never goes anywhere, we have hurt, and we have healed. 

Now the page is turning and this all reminds me of what Rudyard Kipling wrote in his poem called "if" He said that after it is all, you will be a man my son. I can feel those last lines of the poem. For once I can even see it. So much selfishness and selfless acts that have happened between us, millions of us, so many of us together that I can’t even keep count anymore and there's not one time I regret. I know this is turning out to be some long regarded sentiment and I usually don’t like to write sappy little things but at this point, I do not give a fuck about trying to write something that will appease to you. I am writing this because right now it is coming out, I don’t even know the next thought, I don’t even know the next comma or right use of punctuation, I don’t care anymore, it’s not my job to make sure that I copy someone else’s style so you can be familiar, it’s not my job to make sure I write non-run-on sentences, if my thought comes out this way then fuck it, this is the moment, this is what we definitely have, I don’t want to impress you or lead on into thinking that I am some extraordinary person full of magical talents that are going to make you like me anymore or any less than you already do. I can keep writing this same sentence over and over and over again in three hundred and seventy-five different ways. 

I realize I am not your savior, I am not even my own savior, there is nothing to save, we have everything we ever wanted, and it’s always been in front of us if we are willing to see it. It’s deep in the black void in the body, in the soul, in the cellular memory of the heart. We remember everything just not all at once. It is impossible to remember it all at once and even if we did we would go mad, we would go crazy and even when we do remember it, there’s the possibility that what we remember might not even be accurate, it might just be a figment of our imagination, we may stretch it all out to see what we want to see or we may be that little boy in the painting that Caravaggio did in the late 1600's, David and Goliath and the sword of truth severing the head of the arrogant warrior full of pride. Humiliation kills pride. Pride is a dead scene, it’s defeated itself, humiliation is nothing to, just another way to make one feel bad about themselves and what’s the point? There is no point. And you can argue endlessly about anything and everything that I say and I say that it doesn’t matter to me anymore. I am not responsible for your decisions in life, I am not responsible for your decisions and you can say even that this is a very unloving way of me and I can so oh really, is that true and you can look me in the eye and we can see who we really are. 

And you can start crying about it and I can start crying because you trigger something so deep in me, that beast of compassion that melts the iceberg around the heart in the middle of the winter. Then we can start again and we can move like a locomotive, I think I can, I think I can and we can move up that big hill in the pouring rain, all alone, alone with the alone, with everyone around us and no one. and I can keep using black and white terminology but then I will always realize that there is color and there is so much color that it blinds us, it puts us in a frenzy, it takes us away and some people will call us crazy, they will say we have gone mad and that we need therapy and maybe that is so, but then we can always say that maybe it’s not all meant to be taken too seriously. 

Maybe god is a fucking comedian and he’s a fucking hilarious bastard son up on the pulpit letting us all know that the sermon is actually a big joke and we keep falling for it every time but we keep falling asleep in the pews and yawning through the whole experience looking for something more interesting, looking for someone to tell us something, anything, anything we haven’t heard before, something that will wake us up, something that will give us something we never felt before, something that I can’t even describe to you and even look at it, I started out telling you all about NYC and memories and how this happened and that happened and the next thing you know I have opened up this giant heart of mine and it's pouring out and if you have read this far then you either think one thing or another about me or your reading along because you also feel this way and you read beyond the words and the typography and the design of the sentence which even isn’t real, and I can say things that don’t make any sense at all but you understand, you understand it all without even understanding it and I could keep writing this forever and forever and forever and you would keep on reading it, looking for something, anything. and you will say, just say something to me that I can hear or that I can feel or that and I will just let you know that now I am at a loss for words and I am even writing it down so you can know where I am coming from. 

I can tell you that I am still walking alone with the alone and I don’t know where I am going but I have a map and a compass that doesn’t say anything, it’s all blank now, the flashlight it dead I can see in the dark, I have whiskers like a cat, I have the intuition of a mother, the clairvoyance of a psychic, the ability to speak with the universe and see it is conscious of my existence and that I am conscious of its existence and if you took me out of this place there would be a small little spot that not one person could fill that is me but I am so ordinary, and then you could think that I am only writing about myself because you can’t see beyond yourself but this story is about you, and you, and you, and you, and me and me and me, and about no one at all. 

I will write to you more about my dreams, travels, experiences if you would please write to me and tell me that you are still here and remember what we have done together, alone, it doesn’t matter, let's write it all down for the world to read. See look at that, I started out with a fucking blizzard and ended up with the same thing in words worth.

Thursday, December 25, 2008


So I was somewhere I had never been before in this physical life, it was some white house and there were people everywhere who I did not know. I was in the crowd with the rest of them. We were all wearing the same kind of clothing and it was kind of cold outside. There were many windows inside of the buildings all around us, they were house like. A gun man came to a window and I felt his presence looking for me. Once he saw me he started shooting everyone there to get to me. I kept running through the crowd, he could not shoot me. So he decided to shoot everyone. The more people he shot the more open space there was for me not to be able to hide behind. Then the man shot someone right in front of me and I grabbed onto the person as they fell into me and used them to dodge the bullets but one hit me in the head immediately as it shot through the body. I dropped the body and became very weak and wobbled into a door and went into a house and the people were like holy shit you have been shot but I could not respond, I knew this was it, it was my time to go and I laid down in a collapsing manner and went to the final sleep. My sould left the body very gracefully and then I woke up in my mother's living room and she was standing there and I told her all about it. It's funny they call it a living room but I always feel like I am dying in it.


Blue moon diner with Ziggy talking about the time that has passed since we first met and all of the crazy things we have been through together in this city. All the failed attempts at love, music, celebration, creation all due to the fight between the split inside of us. It all seems like such a waste of time but at the same time, it has brought us through this to show us something bigger than ourselves and to compare any time, any person and any one is a waste of time and is not fair to anything. Useless to regret the way everything happened when you weren't sure what was going on and how you contributed to it all. Avoidance of the more negative qualities of life just perpetuated them even more. 

Now the shackles and the chains we have imposed on ourselves have fallen off and we grow wings to fly out of the inner depths of the hell that almost seemed real for a time. I get up to use the bathroom and as I walk back there I think about how lucky we really are to be alive still, to be here, to be in this moment sharing these thoughts. Yes, life has moments of a certain sentimentality that not many people want to admit. I walk back to the bathroom and there is a man with a sullen look drinking a beer in a cup and he is staring down at the floor looking very sad and he tells me that the door is open so I walk past him to use it. I start pissing out all of the digested coffee and this thought comes to me that this man once I walk out of the bathroom is going to start a conversation with me, now I didn't know what he was going to say but I just knew this for some reason, there was a deep feeling that spoke to me. 

So I walk out and lo and behold he starts speaking to me. He tells me he is very lonely and how the night before he had gotten jumped by a thief, blacked out and woke up in Beth Israel Hospital and didn't remember how he got there, why, or anything. His life has been a constant struggle with no possibility for anything else other than that. I just listened to him speak because that is what he needed. To be heard. He said he was hungry so I reached into my wallet and gave him the last five dollars that I had on me and after I did this he started to cry uncontrollably and gave me the biggest hug ever. He told me he loved me and that no one has ever stopped and listened to what he wanted to say and that no one has ever let him hug them. He also said that he doesn't care about the money it was the point that I took the time out of my life to share the moment with him when he really needed it. I said it was no big deal to me, it all lined up on its own, we aren't alone here. 

I also was thinking about the past six months and how I had gone into a very big depression and gone right to the very bottom of everything so I know what it is like. So many people have shown me so much support in all moments of this life and I wanted to share that same wisdom, compassion to anyone that shows up. I am able to help so why not, what it is a moment of my time if it helps push someone in a direction or even opens up a small sliver of awareness. It warmed my heart that all this happened. It's like what I said to a man on the train once; We are humanity! We are all in this together whether we like it or not. 

While all of this was taking place my seat in the diner got filled by an old lady who was passing by Ziggy, she thought he was a famous movie star or a famous something or other. They spoke of art, theatre, and other such performances. The universe threw people at us this day, these people needed to speak, so we listened. 

These relics of NYC history and experience spoke to us and reciprocated the conversation of our lives. 

We love you all.


Ziggy and I are sitting on the N train downtown, southbound to Canal St from Union Square and we are talking about the pictures that we are planning on taking that afternoon with an octopus and a naked woman and there's this family across from us from Puerto Rico, that is at least what appears to be true to me. There is a mother, a young daughter, a young son, a father and a daughter who is probably about seventeen years old. She keeps staring at me and smiling and for some reason its funny to me so I start to laugh. She continues to stare and smile and I continue to laugh. I see nothing wrong with it, this kind of thing happens on the train between young people, old people, middle-aged people every day. 

She then makes a hand signal like she is very bored being on the train with her family, she makes a gun with her finger and her thumb and shoots herself in the head. This makes me laugh hysterically because of the irony of the bored faces sitting next to her on the train. I can understand how one would feel in this moment. Everything in life can be very funny given the right circumstances and moment. It's all about the delivery of the joke but her father didn't see it this way. He interpreted it in a whole other way that was not meant to be interpreted it. I feel it was a big assumption on his part and you know what they say about assumptions when you assume something you make an ass out of you and me. He started to yell at me about staring at his daughter and I told him I can stare wherever I want and I can laugh wherever I want. This pissed him off and he was about to stand up to fight me over this and I invited him but the mother also had a different understanding of the situation so she stood up and got between us. 

She told him to sit down and to cut it out. I let him know that there was no problem to begin with he was only creating a problem. There is a difference between something that is definitely happening in reality and the thought that something is happening, the difference is that one thing you can definitely see and the other is only a projection of what you are thinking of at the time. So seeing how he had some issue with me staring at her, I started to stare at him instead to even things out and to let him know that what was going on was not what he insinuated. I smiled and remained in a good mood, I wasn't going to let anyone tell me who I am and what my intentions are unless there is a definitive thing that I am choosing to show and/or do. This continued awkwardly for the rest of the 5 minutes moving from 8th street to canal street. 

As I walked off of the train I told him to have a good day and he told me that he always has a good day. I said apparently. I also said that he shouldn't assume things of people that aren't true that is where all problems occur. He said that he would assume whatever he wants so I said well then you, at least, know when you are causing a problem that doesn't exist. The train doors closed and it closed the chapter of that moment between us forever.

*one thing I will mention about myself and this story is this, I am no worse or better than anyone else in this world. But if someone in this world is going to try and attempt to tell me who I am, what I am doing then I am going to let that person know just who I am and what I am doing. What you are thinking is happening in reality and what is true to happening, in reality, are two different things.

Sunday, December 21, 2008


It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Wait, scratch that, who hasn’t heard that one before. Too cliché, too obvious. What a waste of time starting a story out about the inevitable things. Everyone goes through good times and bad times. After all, this is the city of hope, broken dreams and repair shops. Plus we can’t just start out with some narration that gives the whole meaning of the story away, it's too soon, it's trivial. Too expected. We have to give them something more to work towards. Surprise them. Something less revealing. Something with a little more pizazz. I just used to word pizazz. That’s something someone would say selling real estate. Why should we give them anything at all? I sure as hell don’t want to listen to some guy talk in the first thirty seconds of the story about the fucking story. I want to read something else. This is garbage. I want to read anything at this point. Something with fewer words. Yeah, that’s it, fewer words. That would be perfect.


First off we see a clock on the wall. It's ticking. We see ten seconds go by. Then we see an office environment. A man waits in a chair. A secretary opens a window and starts to speak.

Ok, Mr. Mr?


Yes, Magdalene. The doctor will see you now.

Inside the Doctors Office, we see a scale, another clock, jars of things, a desk, charts, books. We see outside a window where there is a windmill and a pond. On the wall is that same windmill and pond with a young man fishing.

So, I’m fine.

Fit as a fiddle.

So, I’m not going to die?

I can't predict that I am only a Doctor.

But, I’m healthy as a horse.


No tumors?

No tumors.

Hearts good?

Hearts good.

Brains good?

Brains good.
The only thing I would say is that you should learn to relax.

How do I do that?

Find something that you enjoy.

Where do I start?

Try going for a walk.

Go for a walk?

Hey, it’s a start, I can’t give you all the answers.

Doc c’mon I need something.

No, you don’t. Your perfectly fine. There's nothing wrong with you.

C’mon the anxiety has been getting to me.

That'll do it every time but all you have to do is breathe.

But I am so scared of tomorrow and the day after that and the…

That’s pretty normal.

C’mon just something for the pain, something to make it all go away?

I just want to know.
I want to know so bad.

Whats there to know?

How will I die?

How will you live? Try that one first.

But I want to know now.

How do you know what's going to happen before it has happened? No one knows this. As people, we spend so much time logistically planning out our lives. Writing down on our calendars when this is going to happen and when that is going to happen. Then we wonder why we find so much disappointment when nothing goes according to plan. Stop me if you have heard this all before already.

I don’t even know what to say to that.

There's nothing to really say. Life happens while you plan it. It's always been this way. It'll always be this way.

I don’t know if I am far ahead with that type of thinking.

That’s the thing. There is no thinking involved, you let it happen. You participate in the happening. Here's a question: where are you headed after this?

Well, I am going to stop at the store for a pack of smokes and then head home and think about all this stuff we just talked about.

So you are going home.

How are you getting there?

The car.

So you are driving there.

That’s what cars do these days right?

I didn’t know cars drove themselves.

I’m going to drive it.



It only makes sense, you are the driver at the wheel.
How do you know you are going to make it?

I am going to take the BQE to the Metropolitan exit.

No, I am saying how do you know you're going to make it home?

I don’t really know. I guess we will see what happens, right?

Well, all I know is all you have been the road in front of you, so if that’s true then all you have to do is drive. 

So, just drive, when you get home, give me a call.


Honey, you have to be courageous. To be fierce, it takes balls. It takes and individual. It takes challenging yourself. We are the individuals of this city. We make it all happen, honey. We are the creators of this place. We are the dreamers of the dream.

I was thinking about this the other day. This is so funny that we bump into each other to have this conversation.

Honey, you're open to it. When you keep yourself open to it everything lines up and you meet the people you are meant to meet.

Is simplicity the new complexity?

That’s for sure honey. Here’s a prime example. {points to a man in the window who is eating a very large steak and eggs dinner at midnight in a greasy diner.} That man over there will never know what it is like to be an individual. My guess would be that he does the same thing every single night. Eats and eats and eats. Reads that newspaper filled with the most useless stories of tragedy making his life all that more tragic. The same articles of how fat you're getting, how bald you're getting, how poor you're getting. Yet, he’s still here every night doing the same thing.

And I notice this happening everywhere.

Most people don’t want to break out of the shell, it's too scary. There is too much investment in routine.

Well, look at what he is reading and what everyone else is reading. It’s a wonder why. How can we ever see anything change if we don’t do anything differently.

Honey, that’s what this life is all about. Asking how we can. How can we live the beautiful life? Ask yourself that.

How can we live the beautiful life?


My mind has way too many ideas going back and fourth. Bouncing from one idea to the next to the next. Never being able to focus on just one thing at a time. That’s been my whole life. One thing, to the next to the next. Never being able to completely focus on just one thing at a time.

Or have you just led yourself to believe that?


Well, how else do we figure it out?

We could let it come to us

I need to write it down and see it so I can re-read it and figure out what it means to me.

Hows that going for you?

Well, I am still just as confused as I was when I started out.

Do you feel like you have made any progress at all?

Sure, now I can walk down the street without wondering if something horrible is going to happen around every corner.

So then what confuses you?

What confuses me is this: What are we doing here? I see a whole world filled with poor people, rich people, powerless people, powerful people, corrupt people, religious people, people who don’t believe in anything, big houses, small houses, no houses at all. I see people heavy as brick walls, people light as feathers, people in between these states, People on the outside looking in, people on the inside looking out. This all feels like a strange dream and I keep pinching myself to see if I am going to wake up. I want to get up and get out of this place. I do my best to make everyone feel welcome. I am open to everything that happens but I don’t want to be a part of most of the things that do happen. I don’t even know what you can do to help me anymore, I don’t even know what I can do to help myself anymore as well. I know if I ask you, you will just give me a textbook remedy but that is not going to help me. It makes me sick to hear all of this, to see myself speak this, to see myself write all these things down. To see all this come out of this head of mine, but at the same time, I feel a big breakthrough coming on. I will keep writing and writing and writing and still I will feel like I haven't come any closer to seeing anything.




Whats wrong with me?

What do you mean?

Whats wrong with me, that’s what I mean; that’s exactly what I mean.

Does there always have to be something wrong?

Look at the world around you?

What does the world around you have to do with you?