'It was you who said there won't be tomorrow.' Maybe that will be my last reference to popular culture because I've got to try to get serious now. A stupid life can be exhausting. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. Oh, there will be plenty of tomorrows. But I better cut the literary quotes as well. I need discipline. [I need compartments.]
You can't control what people are thinking. Or what they are doing. You have to focus on yourself. You have to control yourself. One step at a time. One thought at a time. One action. One word. You want clarity. Power. The truth. Your truth. Simplicity. Honesty. Vision.
You can't enter their lives. It's their responsibility. Their choices. Nothing will touch them. Nothing you have. Unless they are willing to let go. They hold on to fear. And bad ideas. You are not at fault. Ignore them. They cannot hurt you.
I'm writing this for myself, but anyone is welcome to read it. I mean, I can't stop anyone reading it. I can't call the internet cops.
This is the last post until my "fresh start" next Tuesday. I am at the end of my tether, so it needs to happen. I hope to work on my songs for at least thirty hours a week. And forty hours here. That's around seventy hours a week of creative work. I may do more, if I can. I need to improve my guitar playing. I may learn the piano again. I'm pretty proud of the fact that there was a time when I could play [warning: popular culture!] Bowie's Life on Mars? Not as well as Rick Wakeman, but well enough. (I've mentioned this before, haven't I? Never mind.) And The Jean Genie. There isn't actually any piano on Bowie's recording of the song, but it sounds great with a piano. By the way, I once wrote a song called Strings of Thought. I recorded two versions of it. (1987, and 1989.) The second version sounded a lot like Bowie. Unfortunately, I only have the song on cassette. I would put it on YouTube if I could. I hired a brilliant session musician to play on the demo (two on the first demo) but I can't remember his name.
I wasn't much of a singer. I'm going to leave the singing to others now. And that was my astrologer's original advice, anyway.
This personal writing has got to stop. And I will stop it. In two or three years time, it will all be lost in the archive. Only fanatics will go looking for it.
You can be personal without being personal. It's transformations I'm after. Transmutations! The baseness of my life will become the gold of literature. [I will crack up if I don't do this.] The immortal words of a mortal man ... is personal without being personal. I need more writing of that sort. And I need to be consistent.
Remember The Three Cs. Control. Consistency. Concentration.
Fragments, again. Not good enough!
_________________________
You can't control what people are thinking. Or what they are doing. You have to focus on yourself. You have to control yourself. One step at a time. One thought at a time. One action. One word. You want clarity. Power. The truth. Your truth. Simplicity. Honesty. Vision.
You can't enter their lives. It's their responsibility. Their choices. Nothing will touch them. Nothing you have. Unless they are willing to let go. They hold on to fear. And bad ideas. You are not at fault. Ignore them. They cannot hurt you.
_________________________
I'm writing this for myself, but anyone is welcome to read it. I mean, I can't stop anyone reading it. I can't call the internet cops.
This is the last post until my "fresh start" next Tuesday. I am at the end of my tether, so it needs to happen. I hope to work on my songs for at least thirty hours a week. And forty hours here. That's around seventy hours a week of creative work. I may do more, if I can. I need to improve my guitar playing. I may learn the piano again. I'm pretty proud of the fact that there was a time when I could play [warning: popular culture!] Bowie's Life on Mars? Not as well as Rick Wakeman, but well enough. (I've mentioned this before, haven't I? Never mind.) And The Jean Genie. There isn't actually any piano on Bowie's recording of the song, but it sounds great with a piano. By the way, I once wrote a song called Strings of Thought. I recorded two versions of it. (1987, and 1989.) The second version sounded a lot like Bowie. Unfortunately, I only have the song on cassette. I would put it on YouTube if I could. I hired a brilliant session musician to play on the demo (two on the first demo) but I can't remember his name.
I wasn't much of a singer. I'm going to leave the singing to others now. And that was my astrologer's original advice, anyway.
_________________________
This personal writing has got to stop. And I will stop it. In two or three years time, it will all be lost in the archive. Only fanatics will go looking for it.
You can be personal without being personal. It's transformations I'm after. Transmutations! The baseness of my life will become the gold of literature. [I will crack up if I don't do this.] The immortal words of a mortal man ... is personal without being personal. I need more writing of that sort. And I need to be consistent.
Remember The Three Cs. Control. Consistency. Concentration.
_________________________
Fragments, again. Not good enough!
