or the what happened to the book story…
and/or the what are you doing with your life(‘tory)
(PUT IRLrpg001 VIDEO HERE)
listening to tracie spencer’s this house (1990)
from the cottage i land back in chicago…this f’n city; a friend once called it my spiritual home. he’s probably spent more time on that thought than i have because he’s super f’n super deep . it’s summer and i’m still thinking about going to wyoming as there’s a yoga studio i want to study at but the feelers i’ve put out aren’t coming back and there’s no time like the present.
i start writing. the idea: an ambiguous tale of my journey told over-the-top in absurdity. the beginning [kansas] is written in short sentences with little description – it looks like binary. as i get on the road [oz], the words i write (about the magic experienced) flow one line into the next.
eventually i become a plant and am content basking in the glow of the sun until i husk.
of course you may not read the book now that i’ve spoiled the ending. the journey in becoming a plant’s not enough story for ending-oriented readers but some of you (point)- may get it and know, that as of now of now, (point to head) there is no book.
a friend calls me out, “joey, what are you talking about? writing a book? what do you read books all the time now? this is like you deciding that from now on you’ll only use one of ONE your many senses. i mean,” she continues, “write a book if you want but you’re visual; you can’t escape it and all i’m saying is that if you have a story to share you need to embrace that”
her words enter my consciousness. they swirl and they resonate. i mean…know how to do (this) [blog], but this can be more (way more)