Open

For whomever reads this...

I'm open. Sometimes for good and sometimes for naught...and sometimes my openness is my detriment but I don't really care...I can't hide forever and nor do I want to. I'm waiting for greatness, to write the next great American novel, screenplay, television show, fuck...I might be interested in writing the next great American toothpaste commercial as long as it helps me keep the lights on. As long as I am not stuck in a cubical hell-hole of an office where I have to pretend that I am someone I am not, cover my tattoos, cover my mouth when I wish to swear, and pretend that I care about what my colleauges did on the weekend, then I will be just fine.

It's clear to me that what I am doing these days and what I have been up to in the last few years have caused some eyebrows to be raised and for that I am happy. It's good to mix things up a bit and keep people wondering. But for the most part, I am still open.

Walking down my street, Post Street in San Francisco, I stopped by the used book store and bought a copy of Jack London's 1936 edition of Martin Eden, arguablly his most autobiagraphical novel (It was only 3 bucks)...and stopped at the first page...meditated on it and tried to commit it to memory.

"Let me live out my years in the heat of blood!
Let me lie drunken with the dreamer's wine!
Let me not see this soul-house built of mud
Go toppling to the dust a vacant shrine!"

After reading this, I read more about Mr. London...he died at about the same age as my hero Kerouac (47) and I wondered if I would have the same fate. I sure hope not but if I could tell my stories and still have a roof over my head, even a moon lit roof of sorts, then I would die happy. Oh...and bread, cheese and a huge jug of wine would be nice as well. I still dream.

My married friends are jealous of me because of freedom and I am jealous of them because of their lack of such a thing. But, having said that...I know that they are not built for this kind of life as much as they say that they are envious. I slept on the streets of San Francisco for a few nights and wandered around for days staying in hotels when I could afford it and on friend's couches when they offered. At the time it wasn't fun but looking back now, it was simple and I was actually happy not knowing where I would go next.

I didn't really realize how unhappy I was though, until I had my first shower in this dingy hotel on Market Street...the Aida Hotel. I didn't care how dirty it was at the time because this anomoly would actually replenish me and make me feel like a whole person again. I had to cut away my shoes from my feet and throw them away...the shirts that I was wearing as well as they were so soiled and crusty that they would be of no use to me again. The good thing was that I was alive and for that I was greatful. The warm water was enough to revitalize.

Now...in the present moment as I am always and only living in the present moment (often to my detriment as well) I find myself observing, consistently and constantly watching life...

From time to time I walk the streets of San Francisco with my good friend Harrison Towne, high as kites on marijuana butter, admiring old buildings, missing baseball games at the park because the people and the sights are just too interesting to miss, running around the Mission and the Castro and trying to do anything and everything that our corporate friends with real jobs and families cannot do. We feel like kings in these moments...kings of San Francisco and the world for that matter. And...there is nothing better than having a slice of pie from a San Francisco, wannabe, New York style pizza joint while wandering with no intended destination in mind. We would even sit cross-legged on steps in Union Square, smoking cigs, sipping luke warm coffee and pretend throw found objects at tourists as we shout at them...telling them that we are better than them! We never say it outloud though, and we never actually throw anything...but Harrison Towne and I both know and think the same thing from time to time without actually speaking. We're just that 'money'...that's all.

So for the time being I am going to travel this path because I can't think of anything else that I would rather do. I don't want to own a car, a house (fuck mortgages), a chia pet or anything resembling a pet, and shit...I'm often ashamed that I even own and I-pod but I gotta have tunes so we'll let that one slide.

I'm flowing with the wind and wherever that takes me...This is me and more openness to follow as I continue to find myself on this journey.

Oh...and I know that you don't care Mom...but sorry for saying fuck so many times.

Fuck...I said it again...