I'M STILL DOIN' SHIT.
I don’t care if I’m too old, too invisible, too something,
I’m still doin’ shit.
Even now, at 5 am, woke up from a bad dream.
A big dog bit my little dog — playfully, but secretly mean.
And now I have a dog with a puncture wound, and I’m walking home.
North of Berkeley Road in the fields where I used to live.
There are no fields there anymore. No fields anywhere.
But we roamed there as little kids — free range — out after breakfast and home for dinner.
Our parents had no idea where we went — road bikes for miles and miles.
Even got on the train to the city.
Always doin’ shit.
It really sucks to be seventy.
The girls are done. “I’m good,” they say.
Too old to be doin’ shit.
I’m writing a book, starting an animation business, building two brands, five interview videos, an explainer video, Websites for three companies, creating a color palette (I’m color blind), and I’m bored.
Why am I bored?
Because I have no one to talk to — except the little dog, who was gored in the other world.
The one thing I don’t do is write poetry.
There are probably rules about rhyme and meter — so this isn’t a poem.
It’s a rant.
Since I’m a branding guy, it’s Noetry.
The punk equivalent to poetry.
I pulled myself out of dreams.
No different than when my older brother was watching something scary, and I pulled myself out of the room. I pulled myself right out when I saw the puncture go all the way into Miko’s belly.
And he was still sweet. Didn’t seem to mind.
Karen had a horrible, terrible thing happen to her belly.
There was a gasp in the room — “Look away!” Nurse Fey advised as unexpected effluent gushed after Karen pulled herself out of the Dream.
And she stayed sweet. Sweeter than ever.
Still with us, too.
That’s what the psychics report.
And now, she’s still with me — which sucks in a way.
No girl’s interested in an old guy who’s both here and in the after (with a disembodied girl).
When Karen died, the rodeo chute opened, and I hung on.
What I call, “doin’ shit.”
I’m still doin’ shit.
The only reason I’m writing Noetry™ at 5:00 a.m. is because Patti Smith appeared in my Facebook feed.
“When I was a teenager, I had trouble getting a boyfriend," she wrote, "so I imagined Arthur Rimbaud or Bob Dylan as my boyfriend…”
Who should I imagine?
Actually, I have imagined... but my three licensed psychological therapist friends warned, “RED ALERT, DO NOT GO THERE!”
Really? I’m still doin’ shit.
The hardest part is no sex.
According to JG Bennett, sex and creativity are synonymous. So, I’m doin’t the dirty with the latter — right now, in between worlds, writing Noetry at 5:00 a.m.
Hafiz says:
"Don't surrender your loneliness
So quickly.
Let it cut more deep.
Let it ferment and season you
As few human
Or even divine ingredients can.
Well, f*** that Hafiz. I’m still doin’ shit!
I reverse-engineered intimacy and discovered a mysterious ingredient called Bondo.™
Same way the doctor runs a blood panel, my Bondo panel diagnoses intimacy issues.
THIS IS A REAL THING.
And I know, “Hey, physician heal thyself. Where’s the Uplift, Mr. Bondo?”
I'm hanging on; the bronco is still bucking, the clock still ticking.
Bondo is different than love — you don’t need a partner for love; I’m swimming in love -- gobs of it.
BUT YOU NEED A PARTNER to feel connected to, be in conversation with, care about, be curious about, and be constant and courageous with.
(Karen’s rolling her eyes, like “jeez.”)
I’d share my Bondo panel with you, but gonna focus-group it in Asheville this month to see if it holds water.
Yes! The world’s first Bondo workshop. ‘Cause I’m still doin’ shit.
Have you read “The Perennials — The Megatrends Creating a Postgenerational Society?”
Just out. From the publisher:
“There’s a new generational force that has nothing to do with age…”
“Guillen powerfully sets out the case for revisiting what has long been a “given” – the traditional four stages of life.”
THIS IS HAPPENING PEOPLE!
Don’t be afraid to consummate life with another course.
The greatest line in all of moviedom: “I’ll have what she’s having.”
That’s right.
If you have a harebrained idea, pass it by me.
Start a conversation
Pull something down from the Imaginal Realm.
It’s there — with your name on it.
Keep doin’ shit!