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]