Thank you, everyone, for all the interest in the new book. I’ve had a lot of great responses so far, as well as a lot of questions! I’ve also had some requests for the book’s Introduction. I’ll include that below.
Additionally, we’ve uploaded the Prologue to the Preview Page (which includes a lot more about the history of the “warrior utopia”) and a super cool entry from Day 12 called “The Collector.” It’s all about my encounter with a 99-year old Shaolin monk named Bosh…who happens to be a world-class collector. Super cool character…with a lot of wisdom.
Click here for the Preview Page – http://www.bobbyrock.com/warriorutopia – or see below for the Introduction. It was written in one sitting and is about as brutally honest as it gets…
Excerpt from; A Season in the Warrior Utopia by Bobby Rock
I am seated at a black wooden desk in front of my laptop, surrounded by candles, clutter, and the chirp of a single cricket. My North Hollywood studio/office has no windows, so I can embrace the timelessness of creating without any idea whether it’s day or night. One of the world’s largest drum sets resides in the other half of my sanctuary here and the walls are lined with hundreds of books. I have a blender and small fridge near an old purple couch where I sleep. There is also some art, a few lamps, a couple filing cabinets, and a big black Buddha statue, which smiles down from the top of a bookshelf as incense constantly burns nearby. And when I turn off the lights, I am back in the womb, suspended in darkness and silence. This is the only place on the planet where I feel 100% comfortable. The only place that is truly me.
My name is Robert Randall Brock, although I’ve scarcely used any part of it since my fortuitous renaming in the mid-80’s. I’m a drummer, writer, health and fitness fanatic, vegan, activist, producer, philosopher, educator, seeker, son to two, brother to one, and Godfather to eight. My favorite color is black and my favorite word is motherfucker. (More on this later.) I live alone and love to practice, write, work out, meditate, contemplate and create…always, create.
Speaking of which, I’ve ridden the mysterious ebb and flow of life as a professional artist for well over two decades now and, by worldly standards, have both scored large and lived below the poverty line…often at the same time. Last week, a drum solo earned me a standing ovation in front of a crowd of 5000 screaming Midwesterners. This week, I’m a professional bum. It’s been a joyous ride.
Today, my life revolves around an insatiable harem of muses who hound me to wake up each morning after keeping me up all night. They pound on the door, like rabid nymphs, and I answer…every time. The problem is, there’s seldom the same muse there when I open the door, and this has been an amusing dilemma for most of my career. I suffer from artistic A.D.D. Of course, I live for the buzz of simply engaging the harem, and I especially love when the work is made manifest. In a way, every record or video I’ve done as a band member, sideman. solo artist or producer, every single live show, tour or speaking engagement, and every book I’ve written, have all been thrown into an ever-expanding pile of evidence that I was here, on this plane, at this time. That matters to me somehow.
At the same time, this revolving door of muses has inspired quite a stout catalog of unfinished works. The most infamous of these is a book that I have come to refer to as The Grail. In many ways, it’s my life’s work, stretched across an exasperating 13 years of writing, research, revision, delays, title changes, rewriting, more research, an infusion of new revelations, many interruptions, serious procrastination, followed by more life experiences and research. In other words, I haven’t been able to bring this one home. Apparently, The Grail wants to be born into this world as a most definitive work about the total mind/body fitness lifestyle, but he’s comfortably suspended in limbo and not leaving the uterus until he’s good and goddamn ready.
Then again, maybe it’s me who is comfortably suspended in limbo. Maybe I’m not ready to leave the cozy womb of my sanctuary, the invisible wasteland of an impending midlife, or the continuum of engaging a journey that has no destination. And when it comes to having plenty of cool projects to work on, I’m like a homeless wino with unlimited access to a well-stocked cellar. Hey, I know there’s probably a better life for me out there but, in the meantime, I’ll just uncork another one here and medicate myself through another day of engaging the muses…and work on The Grail. Always, work on The Grail.
Which brings us back to this sanctuary, this laptop and this desk. While this place had been a three-to-four times per week sabbatical from other living arrangements this past year, I walked through the door several weeks ago with a duffle bag full of clothes and other plans: I would not leave this fucking room until The Grail was complete. So in an effort to get some momentum going, I set up an ironclad schedule for writing and research everyday and eliminated as many distractions from my life as possible. I also rifled a few copies of this 600-page beast out to a few of my publishing world colleagues for feedback, even though it wasn’t quite done yet. And as a copy happened to fall into the hands of a particular person, at a particular time, under a particular circumstance – boom. Everything would change.
Many stories have been built around one’s quest to find a grail. This one is about my quest to finish one.
© 2009 Bobby Rock
Read more here: http://www.bobbyrock.com/warriorutopia