CHAPTER

I'm writing.

On the road.

Heading west.  Not stopping until I see the sun fall into the Pacific Ocean.  

Joe Guese is next to me.  

One million white dashes dance up a silent metronome.

Chasing dreams.  Again.  It's not the first time I've chased a dream.  Chasing miracles, chasing love, chasing passion.  

Somewhere on the interstate, between the pavement, and the blue skies, with my headphones on, I remembered who I was very clearly today.  I felt peace.  I felt hope.  That's what this is all about.  Maybe I just can't sit still.  I may not be able to keep a conventional life, a conventional relationship... those girls often marry the next boy.... the one dressed in security and a nice tie.  I don't blame them.  Chapters come and go.

Those girls need another band to fall in love with.  Something cuter.  Something more popular.... something in the moment... like bubblegum.  Chew it until it loses it's flavor.   I don't blame them.  Chapters come and go.

I'm turning pages.  I was stuck in between the pages for a moment.  And in the dead of this unconventional decision, I started feeling peaceful about what lies ahead.  I saw some creative glow coming out of the sunset, and now I'm chasing it.  Again.  

There is a raw energy that comes from discomfort.  That is what I always loved about New York City.  The never ending discomfort that completely vaccumed the ideas out of my head without enough time to completely sit back in my chair (sitting back in my chair is made for those moments in Bali after endless amount of travel... when I feel the need to celebrate with relaxation), without enough time to second-guess, and with far too many extremely talented people... knowing that if you didn't come up with a good idea... they certainly would immediately.  I love that strange discomfort.  That challenge.

So again, I am heading into a somewhat unknown discomfort.  I need to be re-sprung.  I want to learn more.  I want to be freaked out.  I want to remember how to chase dreams.  I want to remember how to make magic.  

I want to remember how to fall in love.

I want to be reminded that I can make someone happy.

I want to remember myself.

Books are written.  The sweetest of chapters are remembered.  Some are forgotten.  Some are burned.  But they are still written.

I hope you read the next chapter.