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Last night I went through volumes of old stuff. I mean, really OLD stuff I keep in an overstuffed valise under the bed. Pieces from twenty years ago or more and I can't even hear my voice in what I read. Some creepy, some good, some awful...scripts, poems, monologues, stories....attempts at something cool.
Been wondering about why I do this writing stuff at all. And no, it's not the "give up" why, but the real soul why. What makes me do this? For so long? What's wrong with me? I have painful suspicions, but then again, who doesn't?
Been listening to this song for days. It's my new official anthem when I get the blues. It's about music but I think about writing when I hear it, so substitute books and writing for tunes and guitars and you'll get the drift. Going to see this freakin' genius at 8X10 in Baltimore soon. Listen and be inspired. Keep on dreaming even if it breaks your heart...Goddamn right.