coffee wine books [prose track]

Clocking in, 11:56am.  Mission & 12.  Spent more time on this bloody blog, attaching tags, posting it silly link, tweaking the format on the screen, than actual writing.  Can’t let mySelf ruin my first session here in well over a month.  Last time I sat here, before little Jack was born.

Lots of writing yesterday.  Finished that one song, wrote another.  A sonnet, so more like a verse.  The lady behind me just left.  Thankfully.  She made me nervous.  On mocha #2.  This one, only 3 shots.  So, yes, this morning’s, when I took Alice’s car in, had 4.  Thought I was going to asleep fall on that black leather couch, waiting area, watching the news.  May do some tasting today–I more than likely will, on my DAY OFF–with Alice’s uncle.  Not sure where we’ll go.  I’m thinking Imagery, and Mayo.  Or maybe Enkidu, and Ty/Mike located just on the wall’s other side.

Listening to songs from my library.  Boring.  But then, a favorite from Thievery Corporation comes on.  The man in front of me, with a loud ring to his phone.  Heard it even over Loulou’s singing.  It sounded vintage, torquey, dirty, cranky.  Keeping Self to 300, then to ink.  Have some song ideas, and need to release them.  Not going up on blog, as I’m at a wit’s point with technology.  A REAL page’s absence.  How can reading, any reading, be involved, intimate, if you’re just clicking a mouse, going to the next screen?  Don’t think Kerouac had that in his thoughts, on the road or ever.

Distracted by email, and the lady behind me returning only to rush out this back door.  Finally awake, after this 2nd cup.  Time for song, I notice, as the clock throws “12:15 PM” at me.  Just noticed it spaces between numerals and meridian.  Interesting, to me.

[4/2/12, Monday]