Thursday, October 9, 2008
Writing with immortals...
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!” – Jack Kerouac
The other day I was watching Hank Aaron and Willie Mays talk about their time in baseball between the 1950’s and 1970’s. They waxed about how they knew what the other was doing in the sport despite one playing in New York City and the other in Milwaukee . They rarely spoke to each other but read newspapers on the daily. When Bob Costas asked them if one knew what the other was doing my initial reaction was, “No shit stupid, ESPN, the internet, duh!” A split second later I realized what a dumbass I was for thinking that. Information overload was a thing of the unimaginable future. Immortality by way of something-something-something.com wasn’t even a pipe dream.
The other day I went to my old site humbertave.blogspot.com to reread and revisit those pieces and that time in my life. I read half a piece before I saw the link on the right side of my page, it says CeeP. I clicked on it in the hopes of finding something brilliant, fresh, uber-intelligent and just down right funny. I found something I hadn’t expected.
I met CeeP (pronounced C.P. but we pronounced it seap) sometime in 2005. I’d heard about him from my cousin and friend MJ. I’d been dabbling in writing and hungered for pen/keyboard driven kindred spirits. I had one at the time and figured doubling my encyclopedic intake would help with my key stroking endeavors but I’d settle for someone to share oat sodas and world reducing conversation with.
I love writing and writing loves me.
CeeP was a bad vodka drinking, mountain bike riding, Bad Brains loving, menthol smoking, race card with razor sharp edges pulling, Republican adhoring, bright smiling, Bob Marley quoting, hurricane writing mother fucker. He looked like John Coffee from The Green Mile but thought and wrote like a renegade version of Gore Vidal if Gore Vidal was a black man from the South. And he wrote. He wrote like you and I breathe; effortlessly and continuously.
“Bitch, if you want to be a writer, BE A WRITER!”
CeeP was the kind of guy that you could break down the world to it’s historically bloody core with and weren’t afraid to intellectually venture into the deepest and undeveloped confines of your mind. We traveled through Howard Zinn’s history many times. He continuously called me out on my writing or lack thereof. I loved reading his stories. He wrote about music and the movie industry. He was paid to write which is far more than I’ve been able to accomplish. But his best writing was that which came from the heart; the stream of consciousness that flowed out of him like love from a Bob Marley song. Now I’m not claiming to be an expert in anything other than my own life, much less literature in the internet/blog age but CeeP, Chris, was the best writer I knew and knew of. I read the quote below before I had even met the man and thought to myself, “What the fuck is this doing on a blog and not in a book on my pile of books?!” It was heartfelt (but not always), spoke of the human experience in a profound way, introspective to the nines and made me laugh. I could have easily cried at the absolute truth of it all. It’s an excerpt but you can judge for yourself (edits be damned):
“In spite of the gallons of alcohol I consumed, the revisiting of past dalliances had had a sobering effect on me and the stark contrast it unveiled shot across the skies of my mind as brilliantly as a comet during an solar eclipse. I knew right then and there what I wanted out of life; I'd spent so much time seeking validation in others that I'd lost touch with what really satisfied my soul, as Marley might've put it -- the process of writing; the research and joys of discovery buried deep within layers of letters, chronicling my thoughts through characters and reflections to maybe help those who come behind. To share them with like minded individuals, learn something, possibly; find some answers to my own personal enigmas, perhaps. Those momentary grasps on the truth that come maybe a handful of times in a fully lived life, maybe but whatever the case, it was always about the writing. It always was, I was just too chickenshit to embrace it. To get as much of it all down and winnow through the byzantine algorithm that is life -- that moment of clarity evidenced things that I knew already. I'd known it since I was a kid but hell, sometimes selective ignorace is bliss. I could not look away from the future of realization any longer.”
And that’s what I’ve become; at least it’s what I strive for in my writing. To bear some absolute truth and find answers to personal enigmas. He brought out the best in me. When I felt my writing was sub-par I took it up a notch, I soaked up any and all inspiration from CeeP without ripping him off. At least I tried, yo.
He wrote a piece that centered on my behavior at a party in the Hollywood Hills that gave birth to a back and forth on race. You can read it here: Race Card Poker in the Hollywood Hills He called me out on shit if only to stimulate and have me engage in self evaluation. Am I living the truths I believe? Am I a hypocrite? What makes me happy? Who, what, where, why and the other why? Maybe he just wanted me to write.
CeeP had a huge presence on the internet. Google his name and you will find hundreds, I’m not kidding, hundreds of quotes dedicated to his memory. From Richmond to Atlanta to New York City to Los Angeles to France to Sweden and on and on. CeeP had no idea of what he meant to me, despite the time we’d been out of each other’s lives he’s always been there. Right here, right between these letters formed words his inspiration stands tall and like a rock, as he did. I feel blessed and honored to have known the man in the flesh and in this blossoming media we call the internet, no matter how short a period of time it was.
I’m not sure how long his blog, The Chronicles of Ridicule, will be up on the internet. I hope that it’s there forever. I hope I can remember him as an old man, read him and cry once more. Let’s hope the internet gives him the immortality he deserves. He’s probably somewhere in the afterlife in a pub with an empty shot glass to his left, a frothy mug in front of him and a lady in his sights.
“Remember: get into the living of this life, get involved and don't forget to write it all down somewhere.” – Christopher Alonzo Pryor
Christopher Alonzo Pryor no longer walks this earth and this piece falls short of a fitting tribute. Bob Marley’s words? Well that’s another story.
“I say fly away home to Zion , fly away home
One bright morning when my work is over,
Man will fly away home.”
See you in Zion hermano.
Labels: CeeP
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