My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

Tattoo by Fish, Doc Dog's Las Vegas Tattoo, Ybor City

So, my thirty-fifth tattoo is from an Alanis Morissette song, Can’t Not, which is on my favorite Alanis album, Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie.

To me, the song is about how artists practice their craft in spite of criticism, scrutiny, and the pain one feels from being struck by such weapons. People who are passionate about their craft, whether it’s visual art, or music, or writing, they feel a drive to share what they create, to put it out there for anyone to take in. Sharing such creation opens one up to not only praise, but also harsh words and deep criticism. It can be painful for one to have what they create knocked and dismissed, spoken badly of, but that drive to create and share outweighs any feelings of pain that come from practicing one’s craft with absolute honesty. Creation for the sake of creation, whether anyone likes it or not. Alanis writes songs that make people uncomfortable, some just flat out don’t like her, and that dislike hurts, but she simply can’t not write those songs. She can’t not be herself and create with complete honesty.

Whenever I write about depression, or suicide, or sex, or derision toward God, fictionally or otherwise, it is likely to upset someone (especially people close to me). Honesty in writing, particularly when it comes to personal subjects, isn’t always welcome, but this is what I do and I can’t not do it. No matter how much I hate any personal fallout the things I write can cause, this is my craft and I can’t not practice it.

Really, I have something deep inside me, something that pushes me to do things no matter what. I can’t not do things like, tell a woman how completely I love her, even though she might not love me back, or look into her eyes and tell her how much I want to kiss her, to take off all her clothes for the first time. I can’t not travel and experience things, even though something could go astonishingly wrong with the machines, and hoses, and tubes that keep me breathing. I almost died going to a movie last December, but I can’t not go, and do, and be. I do things because I can’t not.

I’ve never had this much trouble writing, at least, not since I started writing this blog. It’s a bad feeling, not being able to create, it’s frustrating. I know I can fix it, I know I can dig my way out if I try hard enough. I mean, ultimately, writing is the only thing I have that’s truly mine, I can’t quit. Whatever I write is what will be around when I go wherever I go after I quit breathing, it’ll be all that’s left. I want something left. So, this not being able to write nonsense has to stop.

I need to pull myself together. I need to write with complete abandon. My writing is about absolute honesty, I need to get back to that place. I need to write like Kurt, and Elliott, and Alanis, writing without safety nets. Otherwise, the writing is empty and meaningless.

Tomorrow will be better, I’ll get my 500 words down. I stumbled today, but we’ll chalk it up to a warm up day. I think I psyched myself out with clocks, and deadlines, and word counts. I’ll get myself together tomorrow.

So, apparently I can’t manage 500 words per-day. Nothing in my head seems even remotely compelling. I’m bored, and lonely, and sick of me.

I need a muse.

The book I reviewed yesterday kind of inspired me toward something. Cesar Torres challenged himself to write a story a day at a thousand words each, for twelve days. When it was all over, he ended up with a book. I’m not quite so ambitious, not yet anyway, I don’t think I have that much fiction in me. I can, however, blog. I can always blog. So, I’m going to blog at least five hundred words per day during May. Maybe I’ll fail miserably, we’ll see…

Tattoo by Fish, Las Vegas Tattoo, Ybor City.

I’ll be honest, this tattoo isn’t the easiest to explain, or maybe it’s actually really simple. I mean, as I think about it, writing this just before dawn, it’s really not a very elaborate story…

I’m in the hospital, weekend number one, not really doing much of anything but listening to music, and thinking about someone. She’s nowhere, and I’m thinking about her, and this Nirvana song comes up in my shuffle. It’s a song from Bleach, Big Cheese. So, I’m listening, feeding pretty melancholy about everything, and Kurt sings, “She is glue… How are you?” The line strikes me as one of the truest things I ever heard, about her being glue. People do stick, sometimes it’s amazing, sometimes not, but they’re stuck in your head, and in your heart, and that’s that, they’re with you. I decide that when I get out of that room, when I don’t have a needle in my neck, I’ll get my thirty-fourth tattoo.

(I got this tattoo from a fellow by the name of Fish. Colt, who I really thought would do the rest of my tattoos, isn’t around just now, and it isn’t certain when that might change. So, I thought about it, and I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to drop dead with unfinished tattoo ideas.)

So, last month Amazon released their test version of Kindle for Mac, allowing Kindle eBooks to be read on Mac desktops and laptops. I’ve been reading eBooks since the beginning, and Kindle for Mac is definitely the nicest eBook software I’ve ever used. It’s not even feature-complete, yet the current feature-set is totally enough to crush other eBook formats. For example, the Kindle app is tied to a user’s Amazon account. If one purchases a book on say, Kindle for iPad, that book gets synced to Kindle for Mac. So, one can have their entire eBook library on-hand on any device running Kindle software. I have multiple Macs, so it’s really nice being able to have my library whether I’m on my home Mac or my travel Mac. The Kindle apps also have a feature called, WhisperSync, which allows one to start reading a book on one device, then pick up exactly where they left off on another. I love being able to read a book out on the town, then pick it up on my home Mac without losing my place.

The biggest attraction to Kindle, however, is the book selection. I’ve been able to find just about every book I ever wanted. Just about… Michael Cisco isn’t published in Kindle-form, which was quite a let-down, but he’s the only author I haven’t been able to find. Maybe one day, I hope.

At any rate, until Apple releases an iBooks app for Mac OS X, I’m all about Kindle for Mac.

Okay, so, I no longer particularly feel like hot garbage, which is a nice change. I don’t feel exactly spectacular, but I don’t feel all sickly and ill either. I don’t feel as exhausted, and generally ill at ease. I’m kind of forcing myself to write this nothing, trying to get back to some kind of “normalcy.” I haven’t felt like writing in so long, but the words are starting to dance around in my head again.

I feel well enough for another tattoo… I’m really excited about this one, my thirty-fourth, I can’t stop thinking about it. My artist, Colt, has been out of town since January, so I haven’t gotten a tattoo since. I promised Colt that he’d be the only person to give me tattoos until I run out of room, or one of us drops dead, and I meant it. So, now that he’s back, we have more words to dig into my skin.

That’s it for now…

So, I’m just getting back after two weeks in the hospital with a ridiculous sinus infection. I had to have nasal surgery. My spectacular anesthesiologist, Dr. Mangar, kept me asleep, and alive, for over an hour during the procedure. I’m out now, trying to get back into things, but it’s slow. I’m tired, I’m a kind of uneasy, sometimes really uneasy. I’m just not myself yet. I’m a little frayed, a little fucked up.

Bear with me, while I dig my way out of this mess.

So, Monday night my friends, Jimmy and Danielle, voiced four of my pieces at Sacred Grounds‘ open mic night…

Telling a story, The world outside is burning, One passing dusk, and He came with her.