Archive for the 'writing' Category

Galloway Nails It.

My buddy Galloway just ripped out a few superbly chosen words about writers (great fodder for me on a day when I’ve no choice words of my own).

Dig:

Writers are alchemists and they are chosen not manufactured. Chosen by whom? you ask. God? I don’t believe in God, so that’s out. What is there to believe in? Something bigger than ourselves? What could be bigger than a self? What could be bigger than ‘I’? Other men like me, perhaps? Only I’ve never met any.

Writers are chosen. Chosen by what they write. Curses are cast in soiled paper wraps, hexes are hurled through space via satellite and through wires and eventually are rendered in words. Spiritual beauty is to be found in anger. For rage moves like an erotic impulse towards the experience of time suspended; rage can expand the moment so that the whole of life becomes potentially one enormous and eternal present, like a piece of writing.

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HUGE. next level huge

I started to write for audiences in earnest back in 1999. So 8 years. Just under a decade. My goal this whole while: Bust chuckles.

I always think what I write is the funniest thing since me & MG TANK stole that Cadillac convertible and drove it into a swimming pool in what appeared to be Atlantic City. But that’s another story.

I’m not sure if readers share in my giggle fits over every word I write. I like to think so — but by the end of a 70-odd sleepless hour mixed-salt amphetamine binge I really don’t give a hoot. I like to laugh. And my witty snips crack me the fuck up. My hammer-sledge one line funny smack-downs barrel blast my skinny ass to the floor.

Ya know what? My life sucks. I’ve been raped by men & beaten by women. My teeth are two-thirds rotted out of my head. I am intractably unemployable. Been homeless for over a decade of my adult life. Two and one half years — my longest run ever — this time around.

Yep. I’ve said it before and I say it once more: It sucks to be me.

But so what?

I get to write about whatever I want for no reason at all other than to make myself laugh. What luck. I’d be dead if it weren’t for that. No shit.

Die or laugh. Those are the two real choices I’m posed with most days. Laugh or die.

Today I had a third choice. Die. Laugh. Or bask in my greatest to-date literary accomplishment. 8 long years in the making. A pinnacle moment; truly the feat I’ve strove for the long while; since I bought my first lap-top after I made $10,000 cash in a weekend selling freeze-dry alien turds at Woodstock ’99. Another different story. One of my all time favorites though!!

This is the story about one thing my writing — a pro chuckle extractor testament — had yet to do. Until last night that is. The very first time ever that a reader has…

…In his own words (left as a [perfectly smashing] comment to the previous post):

Jay Logic Feb 5th, 2007 at 10:28 pm

Brilliant! I just laughed a piping hot Vanilla latte out of my nose, and all over my girlfriend’s computer monitor!”

I am shit-tickle happy. One of those moments, when I read that, where I could genuinely say “Well Hot Damn — it rocks being Mike E!!

In all these years of finger-tips ground tenaciously into my own little world that lives inside my computer’s keys — listening for the secret to make people laugh so hard they fall down — I have never once, until yesterday, caused a reader to Snarf.

Happy Snarf Day To Me! Happy Snarf Day To Me!!!

No but seriously. I hope it was awesome dude! To celebrate: Jay Logic gets to be the first ever open container speedWay blog Reader of the Week!

It & 3 bucks will get you a Bud Draft or 20 MG’z of addaboyz or a pouch of Top Menthol rolling tobacco!

Well congrat-ya-fucking lations!! You came to the right speedWay.

Shit Happens

A’right. I don’t know why precisely but I feel compelled to clear this up:

With rarest exceptions, I am neither “sweet” nor “mushy.”

My previous post was perceived that way by some readers. Which interests me, because it wasn’t intended to be. It was intended to be what it was — a story about a dude who got lured from the bar by his grown daughter with a pitcher of beer that he was too drunk to drink. Kind of like a greyhound dog gets lured by a fake rabbit around the racetrack.

Couple quick points: 1. The drunk dude in question is a friend. Moreover, at least 50% of what I write on this blog — this post for example — gets written in his bar. So I bear him no ill will and even owe him a little nicety. 2. Shit — it happens to the best of us.

But by no means does that conjure any feeling from me resembling “mushy” or “sweet.” While I didn’t intentionally disparage I sure didn’t think it a precisely flattering tale…

So. Who cares? Me.

Because I want to gauge how well my feelings are conveyed by what I write. Of particular interest to me are the characters I wish to develop — most of whom are also my friends.

That’s a peculiar challenge, writing about friends who will read what I write. And who will be read about by friends who know them as well as me at least. My friend from the previous post was a pretty easy hit for me because we’re not particularly close. And his personality is pronounced, well known and easy to get across.

But something went awry. Things will. I’m left to wonder if the “sweet & mushy” angle came across because I’m usually so downright ornery — is this a relativistic thing?

Granted I didn’t have one specifically mean thing to say about the drunk dude. I wouldn’t normally about friends I’ll soon see walking down the street.

The point was to tell a funny story, experiment a little & try to nail down a character. On the basis of the comments I’ve received — & I massively appreciate them all — I have work to do on the character thing.

Hey: if you can’t put up with the occasional imperfection…I suggest hanging around some other speedWay!!