Why I Write.

I was somewhere around 13th when the thought began to take hold. How long had I been in the midst of these Collegiates and like minded youth? We, the unbridled youth, on the threshold of something great and unrealized by anyone from Greece or Athens or Jesus Christendom. I remember thinking "Boy my feet are tired." and when I glanced down to look, I saw that they bore 2 gigantic leather encased sneakers bearing the ominous Nike Swoosh. I need to change my shoes, I thought, as I gazed out into the vast sea of faces. Faces, faces. Where did they all come from, these faces? With looks of consternation and ambiquity. Did they know? What if they did, they must have been on the same wavelength as me. Must have. "Buddhism", someone mentioned as they passed whimsically by my face. Yes Buddhism, where does it lie in the midst of my indoctrines flowing from my past? No reference comes to mind. Though, it does punctuate a stream of consciousness that must have been tapped by all those Bohemian types of Haight and Asbury while grillin' to Ginsberg and listening to the rhyming and rhuming of a natural born poet, Bob Dylan. And like a poet, I must write. It is what's in me that is in constant flux and undulation. Writing is a way to Broadcast the innermost insights of the authors mind; and in doing so it sheds light on the lives of their readers. Thompson, Dylan, Bukowski are all examples of those able to unlock the doors of our perception. Though, as with any spiritual existence, they can only open the doors, we are the ones who have to walk through it. They are the keys to our locks on consciousness, they supply the word, we supply the meaning. This is what I wish to achieve. In a sense, I wish to "Nail Down" the intricacies of the human experience, we so unabashedly let fall by the wayside and expose my innermost insights with my readers.