Listen, I have to break it to you, I love my writing. Before the world decides to jump on the wagon and call me the next best thing since David Sedaris, I’ll be in this tight corner, reading my own blog posts, not sure when I really came up with that.
Do you ever read your own words (emails, decks etc.)? And if you don’t know who David Sedaris is, do yourself a huge favour and grab any of his books.
I was laughing myself to sleep last night with his recount on the grieving owl. The one who peeks in people’s windows just to see how they decorate? Then will do the absolute faux pas: engage the prey. Bullet proof prescription for killing the killer instinct. But hey, it’s all for stuff that’s supposed to make him (it’s a guy, a widower, actually) a more rounded individual. Say something important and you get to walk.
Not that that’s what I wanted to say. I’m just sitting here waiting for Lady Grace to whisper something good into my ear. Instead she had me look through my notes. And here’s what I found:
So you lost your way: that tends to happen if you live long enough.
No idea when I wrote that. I think it came to me one late night. I must have jumped out of bed to write it down. It happens sometimes. When it does, it does.
You don’t get harmony without the cacophony. The instrument registers both. Did you get amazed at the beauty? Ascertain the abyss too. The creator’s, btw.
I got that after being really sad for many days in a row. It just dawned on me that this is probably why Beethoven was deaf. Too much music passing through the pipes kills it eventually. You end up hearing it all in your head. Purer. Does the tormented genius cliche ring your front door bell? There’s something in there. Not that I’m advertising for it.
On the Southbank quarter, a homeless person said good afternoon to me, some union newspaper in hand for sale. I barely heard him, and as I walked by he said “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be ignored this way?” and I felt so ashamed.
I was in London for the day and as I passed him by and heard I nearly cried. I did not go back to talk to him, it would have been the thing to do. Instead I pulled out my phone and dictated the above. It came out wrong and misspelled, but enough for me to remember years later.
– Have you tried, have you dated lately?
– I have a bit and when I say a bit I mean once in a year.
No idea when that happened. It must have been one of those sympathetic conversations, meant to push you in the right direction with the appearance of no agenda. So happy I took that down. For two reasons: 1. I will use it some day in my romantic comedy screenplay, my life’s work and humble homage to Nora Ephron. You saw her movies, if you’re from planet Earth. You’ve got mail, Julie & Julia, When Harry met Sally. 2. When I die a spinster, I will take this to my judgement day and prove goodwill.
For still mind to exist, there has to be a distinction that says thought-free. There’s no such thing as garbage free on a garbage field. (It’s garbage all the way down.)
That one came to me as I was playing Placebo’s Life’s what you make it on repeat. I have no recollection whose tag lines I was working on. (My mind needs that kind of workout to catch the next crisp wave of words.) It starts with emaciated kids rummaging an endless field of garbage somewhere far away enough so it stays a concept. It doesn’t.
Are you gonna be the boss of him or his goose?
That’s not even mine, but it so passes the crispness test. My cousin said it to me when he brought the dog over. Have a blast, the goose won’t mind. She thinks she’s the boss.
Anyway, what I mean is take notes. They’re golden. They help you know your product better. And our mind is such a cheater. We only remember 13 per cent of our flow. I’m working with these tech guys these days. They’re awesome. I’ve rarely seen someone know their product so well. I bet you they have shelves and shelves of notes somewhere.
PS. I love pig, I’m pork based. Pretty good, huh?
Go play. Grab a pad.