Marin, CA – Somehow part of the package of being a living, thinking being, is you get a Universe inside you. I love that thought, words of the late Terrence McKenna. I started out to say that somehow the world keeps turning on its axis, somehow life keeps going and going much to the chagrin of the conspiracy theorists and the doomsayers in every discipline. But then Terrence entered in. Terrence would like that. I entered in, he would say, like a little fleck of cosmic energy flying off the crown of the mushroom king. Don’t ask me where I am going with this because I just. Don’t. Know.
I do, however, know that I am still alive and well – more well than ever in fact, and living a remarkable existence, and that is more than I ever would have imagined possible a decade ago. This website has been around far longer than Facebook or any of it’s contemporaries. Yes it has. And I am. And you are. If you are reading this, then you are still alive and you are still with me. Or perhaps by some freak accident, you are young and just happened to land here. Welcome.
I’m not the famous author I once imagined I would be. I am just a guy who writes. I am a guy who has had lots of interesting adventures and experiences and written about some of them. I have been lucky in love and been loved by many a woman and a few men. I would write more but I am daily distracted by all the work I have done over the years, all the words written yet little of it published. I would write more but I am lazy, and getting more lazy by the year. Ambition has been leaking out of me, and as I watch it flow down the street like the water of a garden hose full of holes, I have to wonder if ambition isn’t just another word for life essence. Life essence just might be all that drives us, and all our drive might just be the sum total of our life energy.
Oh, forgive me. Waxing poor-etic. Truth be told I have never had a lot of ambition. I realized recently this is because I never really wanted money. Never really cared for the stuff. People who like money go after it with teeth gnashing and claws out and balls out all the way. Not me. Never really cared.
I’ve been trying to understand why it is I write lengthy manuscripts and then toss them into a drawer. Money must be the answer.
Twenty years ago right around this time of the year, I embarked on writing my first novel. A year later I had finished it. But it has yet to be published. And that is a shame. It is a good story, if a bit naive and imperfect and perpetually un-final edited. And in those twenty years, half a dozen other book-length pieces and many short stories. Will they ever be read by an audience greater than a few friends? I have to wonder. If I didn’t care then, I certainly care less now. A lot less.
I’m totally through caring about fame or fortune. I scratch together enough to live on. And now I have a family, a woman and her three children who have welcomed me into their world. I have a roof over my head. I no longer live alone on a boat. I have a car. I drive kids to school, and I fix things. I am needed. I have many friends albeit mostly far away. I enjoy movies and carrot cake and Earl Gray tea. I read constantly and have endless access to books, the old-fashioned kind. I have memories. I have a few goals left.
I just might reach a few of them before this story is over. Tonight then, I begin with these words something new, a new blog within the newly revamped Jigglebox. Imperfect and under construction though it be, I think readers will find their way to these new words.
I have to save the world tomorrow, starting with rising at 530 to make coffee for eighty recovering drunks. But for now it’s time to sleep.