6/15/12.  8:48a.  Giving Self ten minutes to write, max.  today, looking for more material.  Scribbled some yesterday, but not enough.  I wasn’t looking hard enough.  Today, Jack turns 4 months.  Tomorrow, Grandma’s 90.  If I’ve ever been reflective in time’s course, it’d be this morning.  No time to be delicate or excessively contemplative.  Just write, release.  All my favorite artists hold that habit.  My song/poem/verse/spoken word collection, increasing.  Daily, if not hourly.  Am I distancing from prose?  Yes, but not entirely.  I need journaled paragraphs, sanity’s sake.  This coffee, telling me to write faster.  Think it’s asking too much, as I’ve been up since 6:20-something.  Wrote for book idea, as I’d aimed.  Only now getting to this “blog.” Tonight, I’ll be arranging 16 tracks for a spoken word collection.  Was going to say “album,” but I feel it’s more than that, deeper.

Self Notes: take more notes on wines, focus on whites; take pictures, see how they’ll further the written efforts..  4 minutes left, and I just lost 5 seconds or so editing the word “minutes,” as I think I initially typed “mniutse.” [???]  Looking forward to the day’s material.  Characters, wines, reactions, weather, tours, all.  What the writing needs, now, at this stage in my days: more whimsicality, the truly tangential.  Why be formalist?  Was Picasso, Dali, Plath, Shakur, Kerouac?  No.  That’s what earned them others’ eyes.


thought – need to be more like Jack, embracing full curiosity, TOTAL Self-instruction; Just see what happens, don’t care, this brings about bold bliss, I’ll bet.  [8:57am]