Carlos Santana said in an interview that all he wanted to do since he was a little boy was play the guitar and that is what he focused on, that there were no distractions for him.
I lived in the another world with nothing but distractions. However through the frustrations of my distracted mind, through the distraction of people who would not listen to my concerns growing up was spawned a level of writing helping to relieve some of my frustrations. This is a part of my story of why I have had multitudes of jobs, careers, girlfriends, fights, discontent, drug addiction and still managed to survive in as world that treated me like I didn’t belong, that cast me out so far that I assumed the role of outcast, the crazy boy, the bad boy, because it was so much easier to fill a ready made category than try and get them to think outside of the box where all my thinking took place in the 1950’s, ‘60’s and 1970’s. Although this is part of an introduction to my own book, you may come across some familiar sentences or ideas because.I have almost always had a tendency to repeat some things since I struggle to recall what even I have said or written.
Imagine sitting in the kitchen and my mom is cooking lunch. I’m 4 years old and she is cooking soup on the gas stove; it smells so good! The weather outside is a cloudy, blustery and cold day, she is wearing an apron with a check pattern; there is a fly going in circles around the light fixture attached to the ceiling and a draft is coming in under the kitchen door that goes down the back stairs to the garden, the wind is making a sound that reminds me of Halloween. My older sister, Margaret is at school and won’t be home until 2pm. Instead of walking home from school, she will be taking the bus because of the weather. Hot soup weather!
It’s ready and she brings the bowl to the table, beef alphabet with little pieces of beef, carrots, green beans, peas, noodles in the shape of numbers and letters of the alphabet. The soup is hot and steaming! All those ingredients floating around in there, ummm. Well the soup bowl is my brain. Information comes in and floats around in there and when I want to retrieve it, I have some trouble doing so because I grab at bits that have no standard place to live, they just swirl around in the bowl, following an order I don’t have a clue about.