Sunday, October 4, 2020

Happily In Love+The Answer

 We sorted things out, like champs. Made sense of a lot of stuff through insightful chatting and healthy, kind honesty. There's the most beautiful child in the picture, and it's just good stuff all around.

The best thing about the whole damn affair was that I was honing in on a realization about my musicality and such that I just didn't have the confidence and sheer creative mojo to ever get anywhere, musically at least. It finally lead to my seeing that this lack of confidence has been an occasional problem ever since I lost my connection to God. Then I saw that the only solution was to get that connection back.

Now, I'm not really very Christian, I uphold the morals and such but my guru isn't the Christ, and I'm not particularly comfortable in all but the rarest few Christian churches, none of which are in my area. I've decided to keep my faith a closely guarded secret, but I do consider myself multi-religious and, finally seeing that God loves me and really is the answer to my problems, and will move heaven and earth for me, it's brings me to a really beautiful spiritual place. Without my emotional issues, I can focus myself on what I really want to do; raise a beautiful son, study and make music, and write. And the material I've been working on since then shows a ton of promise.

Love is the Answer, Love the highest law. Amen.

Wednesday, September 30, 2020

Missing A Gorgeous Woman

 I rejoiced when we broke up because I knew our love was so powerful we'd get over this too. Now I wonder.

And I wanna win her back, somehow, because I love her. More than anyone with the exception of her youngest son. He's so precious. And even if she's fed up with me, he loves me too.

And you know, she's just so rockingly cool. 

Anyway, I find I have less and less to say about her. I just miss her. And I love her. And I hope we can work things out.


Monday, September 28, 2020

The Spirituality of Writing (Greater Closure)

Writers have a spiritual connection with writing, if they do good fiction and are worth their weight in salt. I don't really have a spiritual connection like it with music, I love performance and i love performing well, which, other than Covid, is the main reason i DON"t perform; I'm just not good enough yet I reckon. And do I really wanna be? Rather do I want to put that work in? Not right now, anyway.

    I've been working on a novel for 17 years and bashing my brains against a wall with it. I had this great plotline, and cool characters and I just couldn't make it work out because, at the end of the day, telling a great damn story and telling it well was on the back burner and what was on the front burner was using the story as a vehicle to write an amazing philosophy that ultimately fell flat, Which meant that it all fell flat, no matter how much I worked on the damnable thing.

So I got my closure on all that jazz. Now, the story is naked, and I'm rewriting it and it's super inspiring. That spirituality is back in full swing and I'm partying without alcohol or drugs, lol ,just having a fun time with my buddy Theodore, who is really kind and funny and adorable-but his true nature is that he's a fucking asshole! Which is, of course, hilarious!

I'm so done with music it's ridiculous. But I have a new creative idea. MY new creative idea is to use to hang out while I work with people online and be part of something while I"m just alone at my place, lol. Cool shite.

Tomorrow (hopefully) in the mail comes my brilliant tool for quitting smoking:

I'm hanging out with a buddy and having a blast. He's reading my poetry into a microphone and he's doing such a terrible job of it that it's hilarious and kills my soul too. Good shite.

Good shite, good night. Cheers.


Saturday, September 26, 2020

Closure amongst the fallen leaves

So I guess I have my closure with my memoir series. I'll get the mileage I need out of the first, and publish the rest down the road sometimes, somewhere, and that's ok. I'm in zero rush. I just don't want to work on any but that first one right now.

Which brought me to my other "white whale," my other Herculean task that I've never been able to finish. It's a book tentatively called Transcension, and the problem is not writing a good book, it's that it doesn't feel like a Fearless book, it doesn't feel right, and the truer it is to the original vision, the less it has the original inspiration.  

So what am I to do? So I sat and contemplated the original vision, and not just the vision, but my "vision quest" that led up to it. It wasn't a real vision quest in the sense that I went in the woods and fasted and ate cactus and tripped out or whatever. It was more a quest for wisdom and to answer fundamental questions I had. I started to examine those original questions and tossed out the plotline of the book entirely, and saw quite clearly that the plot was actually, in many ways, a wrong turn in the original "vision quest," whereas before I had seen it as being the answer to it.

That quest was about the nature of suffering and, ultimately, about eradicating suffering. It was a questioning and inquiry into why people suffer in the first place when it, in so many ways, is so unnecessary. Why people become locked in psychological perspectives that are detrimental. Ah, yes, the Buddhists were right--it's attachment that locks us into these perspectives, which perpetuates the suffering of being stuck, and not free!

And why is it that it only takes a shift in consciousness to find true freedom and happiness? That's the beauty, tho, is that the shift unfolds just as quickly as we lose those attachments. It's about waking up, opening your eyes and lifting them. It happens as quickly as one is ready.

And why are so many still in attachment? Why is it called being unawake? Because the less we hold onto, the more we see, until we're free of all attachments and we see clearly, because our wants and aversions (attachments and defilements), by being held onto by the consciousness, naturally distort our consciousness.

There's an old Hindu story that explains why we become unconscious and grasp onto desires. It's because we're all divine gods who decided to act in a play, and to make it convincing we forgot we're divine gods and not the human characters in the plays doing the human things. We forget because it makes this nonreal reality seem more real, and we become attached to our separateness, but we're perfectly safe because we'll awaken right when the time is right. God, all this mumbo jumbo actually makes perfect sense to me now.

And that's why we suffer, because we're still lost in robotic karma action, which eventually gets straightened out and that process makes us wise and wonderful. It can take so many lifetimes, but it's an adventure and we escape the drama when we're sick of it finally. Until then, it just reinforces our feelings of separation and for some people that's their desire.

As for me and these autumn leaves? Where's the closure for that book? It's honestly simply in seeing that I've outgrown its philosophy, its vision quest, its luster, simply by seeing it in proper context. And hwo knows, maybe I will in fact write the damn thing, but it's not so infinitely special of a story anymore. And that also kinda of makes it more exciting to write, because it's more relatable and more writable.

And what is left, without the memoirs to write, without Transcension to write? The Human condition; Humanity, baby. Because this is fundamentally about letting go of that profound urge to change the world with my Truth, and instead to live my Truth, write from it but not of it, and let it instead be a spice rather than the main course that was too difficult to chew and swallow and finish anyway. Now, I am free again in my artistry. I think that'll bring me greater happiness too.











Friday, September 25, 2020

NOW...I'm just an artist, walking

For well over a decade, I've dreamed of staring at a blank page and having a world of possibility open to me about what to write. But I never did it. I had to see my vision through first, I told myself. So I published ten books and released an album and had this five book series I was working on, and maybe then, and once the next few books were done, and all my songs recorded....I wasn't even writing new songs because I had such a back log and couldn't remember them anyway. But things changed. 

I'm single again, because my partner decided to replace me with her ego. That must be a satisfying trade-off for her, I reckon with a little bit of bitterness.

Which means I'm also no longer a pseudo-step-dad. You know, the kind where people say, "well, they're not really YOUR kids," and if you say step-dad they say "well, you're not really married to her" and when father's day comes around nobody wishes you happy father's day, but the kids call you Dadda Brett and tell you they love you and you care for them like they're your own, but if momma doesn't want you seeing them because her ego is more important than their happiness and yours, and hers too I might add....

Yeah, I'm fucking bitter. Nobody likes how she was treating me. She wonders why she has a shitty reputation, and then she does shitty things and thinks shit about people that think shit about her or something?


And it all means that the life I was giving everything I had to give for is no longer in the cards, so I'm walking amongst the rubble and debris of my hopes and dreams and thank God I have a date with a verified cool chick tomorrow otherwise I think I'd be losing it.


I started writing a story and it got darker and darker and darker. Finally, I believed its dystopic dark-age future was coming, which it just may but I actually do have faith in Progress (from a kind of European long-term historical perspective), when I stop tripping out about what a profoundly evil man Mitch McConnell is if you don't take Spiral Dynamics into account--which I wasn't--but that doesn't make him not dangerous. So I changed the story to be less dark. I went on a walk and luck started going my way. I remembered the freedom of my naked self, how the less I have, the more I have, how all the stuff makes it complicated; complex and irresilient.


And so I came home, to my increasingly-cool artist garret, and I've given up working on that five book memoir series. I just didn't want to. I didn't think it was realistic that I'd be rich and famous off the damn thing right off the bat. I need exposure for my literary, musical, and artistic self. I need a plan. I *had* thought that it was realistic, I should add, but now that I'm breaking out of that weird shell that was around my artistic head and letting go of that artistic constipation, I'm really not as impressed with my work as I had been. No, that's not quite right. It's more like I'm MORE impressed with other peoples' works and mine is not so unique anymore even when it is. So I came up with a brilliant idea for starting my career. My memoir series will now be like a "franchise" with the label "A Book of The Mighty Pen Memoirs" after every title in it, and they won't be a numbered series. I sell the publisher I have lined up on the original book in the series, which isn't quite the first book in order. I make money off it for investing back into the career and into marketing future books, I get this one to the kind of audience I was originally hoping to gear it towards (it's a university publisher, so: academia). And we'll see what happens, but this feels right, and if it were a chess game and I could see a few moves ahead, I can see a coupl moves past this too. Things are in the works. 

Really, the goal is to get a cult following of literary snobs. That gets me in the right doors and to the right people. At the same time, I want my work to be marketable to a wider audience and I want interest in my work to grow and some plucky agent to notice and take a chance that it is marketable to a wider audience. The goal is to become discovered as a major talent, without doing it by whoring myself out to damnable writing contests. I don't trust editors. I trust readers.


I also released a new song tonight to online stores, and it'll be a few days before they put it up.


And so I'm sitting here in my freedom. I don't have to do another memoir or even finish another after this one for my esteemed first publisher. But if it does well, the release order is another brilliant strategy I have to leverage this series and my career. I'm sitting in my freedom, and I'm so undiscovered and so stranded up in my little corner of America that it's ridiculous. But I've begun selling my books on the streets while busking and been making about twelve bucks an hour doing that. Soon it'll be too cold to do that and I've barely done it so far, but the slim pickings I will make can go into savings and be turned into buying CD's and vinyl of my first album, and I think I'm gonna make a second album soon anyway too. 

Now, I'm just an artist, walking. I'm free, free of the constipation in my head. I don't know quite what it was that did it, but I think pulling the load of a family in the ways I was pulling the load helped strengthen me and make me more real and realistic, and I have her wisdom and perpsective that's rubbed off on me largely to thank for that. It's starting to feel alright. And the bitterness about the chick that it's over with subsides occasionally to thanks. I served her. It healed me. My religion said it would. It did. I can't forgive her without sincere apology from her side, because she was demeaning, selfish, and shitty. But she was also great in other times and in other ways. But I can also be grateful for how she healed my heart and that helped heal my mind, at least in certain regards. Kudos. Because I am freer than I was before I met her. That's fucking cool. And I may be walking in solitiude, and I may just be an artist, walking, but that doesn't mean I'm really alone or lonely. Hell yeah.