“Ever get that feeling like you’re about to do something epic and life altering? Well, not life ALTERING per se. But epic none the less.”
That’s what I posted as an update a few days back. It’s how I’ve been feeling lately. Even before I got a phone call.
“Why do you blog?” That was the question posed to me by a friend today.
But before I get into all that, let’s do a back story. History class style. Or at least with the appearance of it being a history class.
ERNEST HEMINGWAY: Paris, Italy, Spain, Cuba, various other parts of the Caribbean.
The man can be best described as The Writer of the twentieth century. Have I read him. Nope, not much. Because he doesn’t write about shit I want to read. But that doesn’t make him any less epic. But the point of bringing him up is because this guy fuckin’ LIVED! man. He went and saw the world (well, Europe but fuck it, during that era Europe was pretty much it.) And some islands and shit. And he didn’t do it as some tourist or traveling traveler. No he did it by just gettin’ on a boat and heading over there. (Or plane, or jet ski, or a fucking dolphin. I don’t know how he got there. I wasn’t there. I just know he went.) He was all like “I’ma go to Europe” And Europe was all like “Okay.” And then he was like “‘Sup Europe, mind if I stay a bit.” And Europe was all like “Sure dog.” (Citation needed) And then he stayed there and in Cuba and some other Caribbean islands. And they were all like “Fuck yeah, Hemingway is gonna live on us a while and be all inspired and shit and write stories that people and critics and hipsters will totally dig? Why hasn’t this happened sooner? Welcome aboard your Hemingwayness!” (Again, I’m just paraphrasing.) The End!
WILLIAM S. BURROUGHS: Tangiers, Mexico, South America, Paris, London
This one is more important to me because I read Naked Lunch and some of his poetry and his shit is EPIC! A lot of writers are “inspiration” to me but his shit (With some of the other beat writers.) were life altering. I wanted to write after reading these guys. Yes, I was high at that time. And yes, Naked Lunch is like FUCKING WEIRD. But it was like an epiphany. “Anybody can write if they have something to say. Don’t be afraid to write Tony, just…..do it.” is what I heard. Again, yes I was high but I still heard what I heard. Shut up man! you don’t know, you weren’t there! Wait, what? What was I talking ab…oh, yeah. Back to my point. This guy traveled too. Not like “Let’s book a flight and hang out in Paris for a week.” No. Burroughs was all like “Hey, Europe. ‘Sup?” And Europe was all “Nothing. ‘Sup wit you?” And Burroughs was all like “Mind if I chill a bit?” And Europe was all like “Sure. Whatevs man.” (Sub Mexico and South America and it was basically the same talks.) And then he wrote some of the trippiest, literature altering, reality altered shit. And the literary world was all like “Whaaaaaat?!?!?!?!?! This guy is pretty wicked awesome!” The End.
Notice the pattern. Yeah, exactly! It was a lot easier to just up and go to some country back then. Adventurers wanted! Early twentieth century writers responded “Challenge Accepted” and the world was all like “Hell yeah bitches come on in!”
Fast forward a thousand years and you have a young (-ish. Fuck off, I’m young at heart.) man who decides to stop pussy footing around and write. Hmmmm, he thinks to himself, how do I get started? I know. I’ll find a voice in blogging! So he started blogging. Random life shit. Love, life, music, fart jokes…..you know! High brow shit. And people read it! Friends. Family. And some strangers on the interwebs.
One day he post something that catches a young ladies eye (Roll with it gorgeous. I’m telling the story and it won’t work to argue with me after I’ve had a few beers.) and a dialog gets going. Now before this we need to go back again.
I’ve always wanted to get my shit stranded in a foreign country. Somewhere in Europe or an island somewhere. Some place that either didn’t speak me language or had a lot of adventure having wilderness. Not get-lost-and-die wilderness (ala that tool Chris McCandless where I ditch all survival tools and figure I’ll wing it in a place that might as well be called FuckYouAndPrepareToDiesville aka Alaska). But it’s like you can’t enter a country now unless you have some kind of job set they’re looking for. And aspiring-writer-looking-for-adventure is NEVER on that list….pricks. I mean, it would kind of work for the getting home part. After having adventure, just turn yourself over to immigrations and BAM! deportation. Yeah, there is the few days (or weeks or months or years) in their You-don’t-belong-here jail. But notice, one way tickets are cheap. So……considering the price totally worth it. But no more “Hey, foreign country. ‘Sup!?” Because they’re all like “Denied!”
I only mention the girl because I enjoy talking to her and wouldn’t that be an awesome way to start a good story.
“I met this lady one night in a cigarette smoke clouded bar…..”