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Geography of Dreams

January 16, 2017

‘ve been trying to watch films, listen to music and read books, and go through my belongings to eliminate clutter to bring back pre-cancer Fred. I watched “Career,” pulled out “A Thousand Clowns,” and watched “Miracle.” Miracle hit me hard–the scene where he grinds down his players going from goal line to red line after their lax performance in a game, and the assistant coach blows the whiste and the coach says, “Again.” So much of staying true to the geography of your dreams is drills, sometimes empty ones that test your resolve, and within that emptiness of struggle you achieve. As I watched the scene I thought of how I watched the chemo drip within me, and how I work every morning going through my notes to create another joke, and how I drive four nights a week to open mikes to grind it out, and how I was powered by the support of comics, strangers, and friends, and how–well, I see my Mom and Dad and them saying,”We knew when we had you, you’d never give up,” and how I have to shuffle past the altar of heroes and feel their struggles to somehow formulate my next source of income and where comedy and my writing will take me through the icy, cold-swept plains to the warmth of fulfillment.

It’s more difficult than I thought.

So today I start the day working on material, then I return to the gym to build up my strength, and go through the papers and make notes, and read some sections of Mark Twain’s “Tramp Abroad,” then Hemingway’s “Across The River and Into The Trees” (which as I read it, his prose and lines seems like brush strokes, like he’s painting not writing. (I’ll tell you one thing though, he tries to be funny, and he’s not very good at it unless he’s quoting someone else. But he nailed the concept of having a code in life. And proved its truth.) My eventual plan is to go down to LA and showcase at some clubs with the cancer material I worked on when I was blowing my whistled and saying “Again” as I struggled on weak legs, a bald head to write material and I pushed myself from goal line to red line, until exhausted and half-frigthtened I collapse but emerge with a force that I have to believe will take me to the next level.

 

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