writing posting

I think I lose the thread more than I have it. You start to wonder and ask yourself or at least sit there and with the nothing to know. The constant, movement, is a reason, a distraction, of sitting in a place and just going and doing you start to do and remember what it means to have once been something more than you are if only now because of the difference of where you’ve been.

You think that somehow a simple sitting will serve but then the thing is that nothing, there is nothing concrete there. Your real work is only in the—not in the interim moments of—the only times you’re not on stage you should not as well be aliving if all it means is that the rushing around is what it is. The coming in your girl is coming and there will be the impli/ramifications of all the activity. You will come to know that you cannot continue as you do. You will need time, and a space, and an income and a way and a means of growing being and better becoming.

There is no other way but then the one which you know of having been the case as you can see. Never before has there ever been something so done with the heart and the head as what we all allege is the only thing that we couldn’t have put together until now.

This morning I had a little coffee and then I woke up and the good things that I did:

                  -podcast recording

                  -small breakfast


                  -Judy email

                  -Ian email

                  -and you left he house, which is not at all a nothing

-you read, and you exposed yourself to, another book written by another comic and seen and learned that the life that they go through is not so much more or greater or glamorous than your own. (how is it possible that a man/comic of Todd Barry’s stature is still doing the same sorts of things that I do? I remember the year last year when I made it so much of a position/mission in my head to visit as many of the states as I could for standup. and then suddenly it all ended when I got together with a girl. where was I when I met Alina? where was I with my life? the only things I have as a way of remembrancing is the show dates on my site. if it weren’t for that I’ve have no or so few memories. it makes you wonder what the point is of accruing all these times and experiences if you take none with you. at the end you just have to go home all the same. you will come to recognize and know that at the end of the night you are left. on the road, on the couch, on the couch of another, always, on the road. no time or any interest to read or do that which doesn’t add to the life of which you are attempting/trying to be a part. you have to learn at a certain time that the only things which will keep you alive are the ones that you don’t or are unable to know or recognize as ok. when will it come that you have some rest? don’t you, don’t you want a/some sort of peace? all you do now is walk around and look at the hands and the hands and the ring hands fingers of the them whose selves you image are somehow somewhere more complete than your own. never will it come to be that there’ll be a sort of a semblance, a rest, a resting of that which you want. you cannot keep moving as if all the time. this is the posting of all the writing)

a nothing, a really, the nothing that you didn’t do is what counts. the real work is always evaded