Back in session. Already two poems for today. In a minute, typing them. Need them released, soon. Money: needed for travels, “writing abroad.” Corny sounding, but… Tomorrow, back in AV. Hopefully tomorrow shows such weather as today. Would love to just cruise out to Bodega, write to waves. One day, soon.
All in my head, music. But, then, blocked. What’s going on? Should treat mySelf to some new songs, albums. Not sure what to hunt, though. There’s an imbalance about me, for some reason. Not that my mood is “bad,” per se. Just indecisive. What to do… I need another location, but am hunkered, for Mr. Jack. Which I don’t mind at all. Right now, he sleeps. Which is more than enough push for this passage. His little left paw lies over his eye, I’m sure unintentionally. He releases little growls, muffle hoots. He sighs, coming out of neutral. Then falls back into a dream, or simple sleep.
Just bought mySelf a $50 credit for a small song spree. Mostly looking for Wine Bar beats. But also a little jazz, hip-hop, mild electronica (somewhat along lines of Wine Bar material). I’ll mentally write it off as a writing expense. Conveniently.
And with light’s speed, my mood descends. Maybe I need a beer, glass of Sauvignon Blanc, something. Time, 4:47pm. Not too early, right? What do I think? Plead the 5th, again. Should have driven out to Bodega Bay. Can still catch that flight to Paris, Dubai… Think it’s this blog that’s giving me the mood. I think. Need a completed manuscript, as I’ve been writing forever. Was thinking this morning that the reason I’ve had these realizations at this age, with so much material accumulated over years, is so I can finally use it. I have more than enough, finally, for takeoff.
5:55pm. Still no cocktail for the author. Mood, holding pattern. Need fresh air, or something. What I really need is TRAVEL. An adventure for the writing. Somewhere random. Or, somewhere familiar. Just somewhere, A somewhere. Anywhere. Where I can just sit, write. Catch characters as they walk by. Paris, overloaded with such opportunities. Hemingway would agree. He’d probably urge me to just buy a ticket and go. Who cares about responsibilities? “It’s all about the writing. YOUR writing, YOUR life,” he’d say.
9:36pm. With a glass of my brother Kaz’s Lenoir, I’m elevated, calmed. I’m thinking of my travels, near as I hope they be. I’m hoping that my poems, entries, take me to New York first. Why do I want to go there so fiercely? It’s a Literary capital, if not THE Lit cap, of the country. I’ve wanted my writing to take me there since reading Carolyn See’s book. This Lenoir, so melodic, poetic. Just what I need right now. Kelly would love these pours. In fact, they kind of remind me of her works. Rustic, raw, Romantic; oil-based abstraction; multidimensional, dramatic. Need to finish my intro piece for the chapbook. Need to log off, finish my portrait before diving into paragraphed playtime, with a frolicking freewrite.