i wanna write something so i’m gonna even though the write every day for one year project has come to an end and i did take the 1st day of 2o11 off for no new entries though yes notebooks were scribbled in at 7am in oakland as the cold and wet day began, the 1st day of the new year.  up and at-tem and right back atchya the new years night was old school and new, this how you do it now with whatchya know.  writing is part of a religious obligation, for i am first and foremost a scribe, i write cuz i can and cuz i gotta.  i sit at desks wrapped in blankets on saturday nights, smoking oneys and cutting footage from last night.  i read henry miller in bed and nap while waiting to render.  come on down bob barker the game has changed but it’s still a game.  the price is write you daft punk.  work hard and have fun.  unity 1.11.11

“write something every day for one year.”

day#365

12.31.10

another 5am bags packed.  3000 miles away.  los angeles.  heater on.  high 40’s is a cold angelino night.  send in the clowns and get some rest.  got some yesterday and today we will drive up to san francisco.  no pardon for billy the kid.  it is new year’s eve, officially the last day of the year.  and officially the last day of this project.  “but matthew why you gotta be so pornographic?”  an experiment in kerouac and bukowski, emerson and thoreau, whitman and miller, byron and shelley in an “ode to the west wind” so apropos. . .

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,

The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

i sing the praise courageous my heart is contagious.  text messages and web cams in your eyes, got my lips on your thighs.  say hello and goodbye.  wish you were not you no i don’t yes i do it’s simple in it’s complication i told her on the phone 2day we haven’t in talked in months.  that nap lasted longer then i thought. i really do wish i liked her no i don’t what the fuck?  sometimes i don’t even try.  and then i give you all i got and now you don’t even care.  that timing in that alchemical equation with ever changing variables and instances of doubt.  it’s ok yakoff smirnoff the cold war is over, it’s been over for years.  it’s early and it’s late, it is right on time, here we are, we are everything.  and so this shall come to pass and sooner then you know something new will be here.  gate gate para gate parasam gate bodhi swaha.  you can live and you can heal.  ticking clocks and tickle smocks, you can paint reality with a smile in the sun.

“write something every day for one year.”

day#364

12.30.10

it was almost 5am, my bags were packed and i was downstairs in my parents basement smoking a bowl and yawning and thinking about all the memories down here.  socks with holes on the cold cement basement floor.  heard my parents alarm go off around 6am.  i was upstairs writing emails in the bedroom where i grew up.  cabinets and closets full of notebooks resonating with all this time gone by.  i took a shower and launched my website, snapping pictures out the frosted window as my father took us the back way to the pike.  there were tears in his eyes as we hugged goodbye, i was too tired to cry but that man has given me everything and i love him more than anything any light i shine was sparked by his and my mother’s love.  he dropped me off in the cold winter morning the 2nd to last the day of the year.  i was too tired to cry and i slept the whole flight.  woke up and the sun was shining once again in los angeles.  i got home and prayed and passed out again.

“write something every day for one year.”

day#363

12.29.10

stopped at the dunkin doughnuts on route 16 washington street in wellesley by the newton town line before arriving at the west newton cinema for the premiere of pedx.  there was friends and family and faces i haven’t seen in years.  the screening went off without a hitch and everyone applauded.  the lights came up on a wednesday afternoon.  we all went out and got some lunch at a pub down the street named patty’s.  dropped of pt and his brother in law at the airport and dropped the digibeta deck off at the camera rental house off of soliders field road which was wicked hard to find driving around harvad the football stadium looks like something out of ancient greece.  down by the river, down by the banks of the river charles, some sections were frozen, the parks were covered in snow white.

“write something every day for one year.”

day#362

12.28.10

basement downloads.  premiere time.  on the path and in it.  do not shy or stray.  just be who you are.

“write something every day for one year.”

day#361

12.27.10

worcester centrum. a frigid post blizzard holiday new england night. old friends you’ve known for decades. and some of the most talented musicians around playing together like only they know how.  just like 100.7 wzlx. classic.  the original classic.  gordie lockbaum was diggin the dead on the drive home especially when that ramblin rose came on at the route 9 exit off the mass pike.  he was slinging nugs in durgano back in 1998.  this head was family.  he had the horse piss and the sugar pine.  he used to say that, “that was a custy’ jam”, but it moved me tonight, it was fingerlicking good like some 5 year molly, that stuff from the night before your wedding on the cape.  and it made me wanna cry those tears of joy and sadness, the sweet and sour of life and gratitude.  everyone has got their own connection and everyone has got their own history, even the moments we share together are moments that we share alone.  and when i got home i slept for hours in the bedroom where i grew up.  i dreamed and dreamed impossible dreams i could never remember but they’ll be with me forever.  the venerable winter sun shined upon a glistening bed of white and the cleaners spoke loud in spanish as they cleaned my parents house.  my bedroom door was closed.  and i woke up after 3.

“write something every day for one year.”

day#360

12.26.10

my bags are packed 3am.  just a shave and a shower away from a quick cvs run for some presents for my nieces then off to a pay to park spot off of la cienega and 99th st.  on day #360 i fly on flt #360.  lax-bos.  they say a blizzard is coming.  pedx premiere.  i got a girl that is sweet in my bed.  but i got work to do and i don’t wanna cuddle right now.  gonna hop in the shower and kiss her goodbye.  she’s gotta wake up and go and so do i.

flew in just above the storm one of the last flights in.  my feet are cold on the basement floor.  the wind and the heaters are humming.  outside everything is covered in white.  lax was empty at 5am, no security lines.  even the shops were closed.  i read some henry miller, took a morning dump, ate a grapefruit, and waited to board.  when i sat down in my seat they were playing my friends song on the PA.  i tried to sleep and did for a bit on the bumpy ride flying over a blizzard we circled for 45 minutes as they cleared off the track and everyone clapped when we landed.  the doggler and jen scooped me up, as the kid lamented about having to postpone the premiere but everyone knew, really you can’t have people drive in this weather, even the theater was closed.  it’s a blizzard, they got hurricane winds on 80mph on wellfleet at the tip of the cape.  driving through the ted williams tunnel ouy onto the snow weary roads of the mass pike with just rear wheel drive.  “this thing was going viral, people were coming out of the woodwork and last night the weather was perfect, cold and crisp but clear.”  but last night was chirstmas and last night i was in los angeles but now i’m back in my parents basement wearing my boxers got holes and my socks are standing with holes on the cold blizzard basement cement floor.  we got off at route 16 through newton, passing over 95 into wellesley.  route 9 to weston road traffic moving slow but people back here know how the drive in this. they dropped me off and headed back to the doggler’s dad’s place and  went walking through the snow on the street where i grew up the driveway to the house where i lived for 18 years and more.

“write something every day for one year.”

day#359

12.25.10

5am christmas day.  a beer and a cherry coke.   goddard’s “contempt”.  brigette bardot, jack palance and fritz lang released in 1963.  jack palance has a face so chiseled and brigette bardot is so fucking hot.  fritz lang is a giant, goddard is a genius.  i wanna go to paris with just a notebook and a pen, a camera and a laptop.  i’ll make a new version of “breathless” and write poems in cafes.  cherry coke, mothership wit, a pipe before the dawn.  coming on to carry me home.  i wanna get naked for you, but i don’t care about you, i mean i do but i don’t love you.  don’t really want to get to know you.  has anything changed at all 359 days of prose?  sometimes i think i like you.  you fickle fishee.  jesus was a fisherman of men, once there were 3 fishermen. . . the first one’s name was abraham.   brigette bardot is wearing a black bob wig and smoking cigarettes on the toilet with a red towel on.

“write something every day for one year.”

day#358

12.24.10

in my 11am dreams i was jumping out of skyscrapers and soaring.  gently touching the tall glass with fingertips flying like a surfer skimming the water riding through the tunnel of a wave.  i woke up and it was christmas eve.  i went to canters and bought a homeless man dinner like i do every year.  turkey, cranberry sauce, mac and cheese and hot lemon tea with sugar and lemons.  rodney bingenheimer was waiting for some take out inside as well.  i got home and started reading tropic of cancer.  anais nin wrote the preface in 1934.  i will paraphrase the phrases i liked. . .  an obedience to the flow.  the intangible gridirons of his imaginary world that every artist must traverse.  diggin up subterranean springs.  i still got the fan on and the heater on, drying out the carpet from the slight flood of angelino december stroms.  up in mammoth they got the most snow in the entire world, yes even more than the north pole.  i looked up nin on wikipedia.  she is a fascination.  keep feeling fascination passion burning love so strong.  her life in the heart of 20th century bohemia.  i wanna see the films she made with her husband “ian hugo”.  i wanna spend the night with anais nin.  santa claus ain’t coming, i’ve been too naughty.

i am living at the villa borghese.  there is not a crumb of dirt anywhere, nor a chair misplaced.  we are all alone here and we are dead.  henry miller “tropic of cancer”

“write something every day for one year.”

day#357

12.23.10

i am gonna write more science fiction.  you know i really dug that stuff growing up.  isaac asimov books that my mom got at the dump.  bruce sterling talking about the inevitability of wiki leaks since ‘47 (CIA) or ‘93 (WWW) calling assange’s attack “a planetary hack”.  i’d rather communicate with emoticons and dirty talk.