Why do I love mochas? I do. That’s it. I would probably choose them over wine, if forced. They keep me focused, obsessively. Wine, encourages roams, wandering. About to jump to spoken word, wild rhyme structures to be performed. Best fuel, caffeine blended. It injects fury. It tells me to target subjects, moments, embrace “lunch hour,” make it mine. It’s part of this routine, part of the writing. Helps with the cold, fights it away while keeping it in place. How does it manifest such multiplied magic? Thankful I found her. This would be desolation with her escalation. Deliciously vicious.
1:29p. Eight minutes left for me. The mocha, only a couple kisses left. 1, 2 … Happy there’s still a third. The first page, not sure how I feel. Holding on the editing for now. But maybe that’s my problem, THE problem, with my Creative practices. Jewel just walked by, reminds me that I need to buy that sketch pad, trying drawing, anything. I AM afraid of that attempt, drawing. But why? Wasn’t when I was at Arundel, around 7 or 8 years old. I just drew. and I liked it. I remember my works receiving a bit of praise, at certain points. Aging pollutes posture and vision.
[1/17/12 – T]