The Story's the Thing..

Lots of great stuff going on. It’s been a while since I’ve checked in.

First, got a new Mac—very exciting, especially since I got a screamin deal. And I can record on it. Lovely. Now I need $800 for the FW-1884 and a drummer.

Second, I’m in Seattle, helping my mom clean out her house here. 40 years of trinkets and treasures. Mostly trinkets, but also some great stuff. Photos, old art projects, etc. Good to peruse, move where you want them to move, and keep poppin. It’s also nice to see the sights and catch up with my peeps. The city is changing very fast, mostly for the better. The third tier grocery stores here beat just about everything in Chicago—except Whole Foods, perhaps. Although since they don’t hold themselves to arbitrary standards of “purity” you can actually shop in one place. (Arrogance.) Plus, you can affford to eat fish. Copper River Salmon for $8 a pound—give it to me! Thank you Jah. Tons of killer places to eat, have a spot of tea, etc. Volvos, Subarus and putty-colored fleece make it a bit drab and predictable, but hey, you take the good with the bad. Beautiful flowering trees, too.

I’ve heard some nos from people reading my book. At least they asked for the whole thing. And I completely understand that it will take someone with love for it and a healthy dose of guts. Is it too much to ask for someone inside the book industry who thinks the book industry is bullshit? The first book I can remember with a live white man on the cover. That’s worth half the cover price right there. Can ya feel me? There’s one man reading it in NYC who I’ve got a feeling about. It might take a man at the end of his rope—physically, emotionally or spiritually.

My current plan is to sell the film rights first and flip that into a book deal. I don’t know if these foos can feel the real until they know it’s money. Money, money, money, money, money! Mo-nayy! I’ll talk any language they need to hear. And white is my native languuage anyway. The funny thing is that no one has said it’s not any good. I hope they’re not just being nice (white). Tell me the truth at least, white. Actually, one guy said the finish wasn’t as strong as the beginning. Whatever. I honestly don’t know what these people read. They must like reading to read a lot more than me. To pass time. I want the story and the truth and the feel and I’m out. Just tell me! Stop holding out. Life is the primary source—and a hell of a lot more fun. But motherfuckers aren’t ready to pay me to live. So little do they believe in love’s power. ; ) A book, though? Produce?! That they believe! Was the bible more valuable than Jesus? See what us white people have to deal with? You gotta make money before anyone believes your ass. Motherfuckers. Just wait until the gift economy. You’ll be starvin like marvin.

I’m reading some Tom Robbins right now and it’s aiight but it’s like screwing around. Picking up on 23 year-olds in bars. And if you think that’s love—or even fun—go do it for a few years. There’s something to it, but come on man, this shit is real. We’re post 9/11. 20 year-olds are dying from cancer. Every single man is leaving. It’s just too late to fuck with that shit. Remember what you told yourself after 9/11? That you were going to go for soul, that you were going to get real this time around? Go for feel.

That’s how it works—go investigate everything you think is cool, neat, warm, loving, fun, anything. Do it deep. Do it long. Do it strong Commit like you’ve never committed before. Commit to fucking around, commit to drinking 2 beers three times a week. Commit to taking a walk and smiling at the checkout clerk. Commit to going faster, trying to do it all. Or dropping out and hating everything. Drink, eat crap, jack off, try to control people, go for mammon, Read bad books, think Kerauack and Ginsberg are the shit—do whatever. Whatever you think works, go do. Do it to death! Just don’t forget to drop it all when it fucks up. When it does kill you. And don’t forget to throw it all away when it never brings the peace of mind, the relaxation, the feeling of prosperity that you have in mind. When you realize you’ve spent your whold life feeling “just”. Just about there. Just about awake. Just about ready. Just about present. Don’t forget to be ruthless and hate on your former cute bullshit as hard as you disbelieved your soul. Don’t forget to hate and kill your stress and business the way you did your calm and quiet.

And don’t forget to re-up and put it all back on the line. Don’t forget to risk it all, spend every penny, and say everything just like you feared it all, saved it all and kept quiet. Even though you now really are too tired, too old and spent. There are very, very few people around who even know how brilliantly perfect this world, this life can be. But you could be one of them. In this life. And a whole lot of em (of those who don’t believe much) are trying to sell you their books. Their workshops and private sessions. Ekhardt Tolle drinks coffee and wine. Why the hell does he need coffee as fresh as he claims to be? Bed of roses or just a bit of nasty, brutish and short ameliorated? Non-fiction may sell but it still ain’t shit. The story’s the thing..

There are levels of enlightenment, and from what I can tell, a lot of even the new age gurus aren’t doing that lovely. But, hey, it sells. And it is probably a level above what people are thinking. Talking nice is a first step (I’m doing it right now), but what’s it worth unless we get to enjoy the creations of a real culture and economy we can feel? Not much. What we currently know as new age—and this includes Yoga, meditation, eating healthy, self-help, therapy, etc—are nothing but means to an end. And you can grab the end anytime you want. Just do what you want. Every second, every time, and own the results. It works.

And don’t be afraid to leapfrog any pimp, guru or system. The truth is an uncharted land. (Says Krishnamurti, a brilliant thinker who had massive money, sex and hair issues.) Systems, gurus and pimps are as much the problem as anything else. Take complete and radical responsibility for yourself and your own happiness. This will require dying many times over your lifetime. Living multiple lives in one. Don’t be afraid to leave—as long as you are willing to create exactly what you want. And make sure you can walk away. If you run you won’t get free.

The co-op isn’t right, Whole Foods isn’t right, vegetarians ain’t right, yoga isn’t right, (been seeing Sean Corn—yoga pimpess a lot of places), Oprah isn’t right—shit, I’m not even right. Experts ain’t shit. Although I’m no expert. Remember that. By virtue of their expertise, they are missing sommething. May be missing something. Jesus was an amateur. Was killed for his lack of credentials. Doubted even himself. We may all have portions of what is good and right but the bullshit that we’ve rammed up our own asses and now peddle back to poor selves is ust that. I could go back and stick in that j but fuck it. That’s my point. It’s just that. I’m not going to make myself a pimp—erase my vulnerability, or even curtail my bullshit—just to make your money. Just to get your love. I’ll dance any number of ways but I won’t be your daddy. I’m no Dr. Phil. I wrote a book about myself, not other people. I paint with string on a piece of canvas, I play songs that only have two chords. Or two words. And if that’s not enough, there’s not much I can do. Although I can guarantee that it will make more money long-term than any man ever seen. It has nothing to do with me, it’s just what is. Real time, real love, the real shit. Or you can have anything else.

If you want to read the book of this shit, paypal me $40 plus $4 for postage. If you want to hear the album, I need about $50K. $7 mil. gets you all of that plus significant return. Isn’t anyone with money as bored with public life, the economy and our culture and entertainment as I am? Why is money and belief, money and love, at odds in this richest of all nations? Haven’t we been given everything we’ve ever asked for? Why should we doubt the process itself just because it was doubt (the critical method) that got us all this? Oh ye of little faith. Now it’s doubt that’s in the way. No big. We just need to get bigger than it. It’s called love, yo. Ain’t no hate been made yet that can hold a candle to a single grain of love. Just wait til we got a barrel of it. Motherfuckers don’t even know, god!

Ps: my second grade teacher said I had an aptitude for art—does that count for anything?