Over 2k before noon.  Guess that means something, for the day, my Now.  If anything, that I’ve been active.  Creative.  Do want to go for a drive.  But haven’t taken a shower, yet.  Heater on, just for a bit.  All I can afford.  Mocha done, onto Diet Coke.  Want to sip coffee, though, as I was writing this morning.  Look at books.  Maybe buy one.  Ugh, now I’m just repeating what I wrote in the book.  Trite.  Should be writing poetry right now, some verse for my impending performance.  But, thought I’d check in.  Just hope readers are checking in.  Otherwise, these words, woefully wasted.  Wait, no they’re not.  I wrote them, read them.  They mean something.  If to no one else, to me.  I know winemakers that make wine for themselves, to save money.  Same with my beer-brewing buddies.

A little tired of writing.  Is that bad?  Does that make me less Literary, that I may need a break?  And, the sun appears again through the blinds, right when I wrote that sentence.  Has to hold some significance.  The day, Life, outside.  And I’m in here.  With these buttons.  Not in a gloomy, pessimist perspective, please note.  I’m just stating, obviously of course, that I haven’t tasted the day.  Think that’s what these sun slices are saying.  12:45p.

Should go for a drive.  Bookstore.  And not Barnes & Noble.  The independent one down the street a few blocks.  More suited, aligned, with my written productivity this morning.  And, I just enjoy seeing those books, in their tower stacks on the tables as you walk in.  Like a manuscript metropolis.

Still thinking about the Martin Eden passages I re-read earlier, for the first time in years.  That book is totally meant for the sovereign artist, to encourage a Self-published author.  Editors, Magazines, they don’t care about artistry.  They’re content collectors, for sakes of ad inflow.  Despicable.  Not for us.

Thinking of my own shop.  What kind of shop?  Don’t know.  Just a place of business that is mine.  Where I can think, row down my own river.  Survive off it.  Could be a wine shop.  A café, restaurant, Wine Bar.  Or just an office where I can write.  Nothing box-like about it.  That wouldn’t be allowed.

Free, artful, tasty Equilibrium.

2/11/12, Saturday