Simulated Thursday, how they’ll be this semester, teaching the two classes at night. Giving Self till 4pm– no, 3:30 to get what I want accomplished utterly satisfied. Just called work to remind them of scheduling change, just from courtesy. Shower, done.. cleared desk [haven’t seen its surface like this in some while]. Need mocha.. Typing off blog, for day’s most. Want printed pages, to see AND touch my Art. Think that may be my only demand of Self 2day, we’ll see. Turned heater tempt down, now it’s on again. Must be animatedly cold outside. Coffee, coffee.. all I can think about. Where’s my jacket? Sure this is making for an exciting read, reader. Huh? Break…
4 shots, actually. Decided upon walk to fetch my itch-muting cup. Seeing Art in everything. EVERYTHING. My prompt for the day. An attempt to make Self a bit more lively about grading. I’ll go to another coffee shop this evening, just as I did last semester, before class. And I have to get grading DONE. Can’t let Self distract itself with wandering ideas. More than likely, I will, but I’m telling Self NOW not to.
Thin, peaceful iced layer on my car’s roof. Entered cabin, but then decided it’d take too long for windshield’s slab to slide. Glad I elected walk. And I did see Art. In everything. Characters in line, the way tail pipes threw phantasms into early ambient scenes. Just noticed, this unusual peace in Room with me. Getting this out of the way before connecting with some book idea, project, goal, file, whatever. Want three full pages before 3:30p. There. My goal. One I’ll print, see, read, hopefully reread. TOUCH.
Music on brain. What’s playing now, a little too relaxing. Need some energy, but not too much. Maybe I should leave it as is…
Sipping, can only think of what I’d be writing if I were with little Kerouac, in DC. Or with Mom & Dad in Sunriver, surrounded by that snow, looking into backyard area, vision intermittently interrupted by powder pockets rolling off roof. And I feel all the more violescent, daydreaming, as if I were walking one of those paths by our house up there, looking out at Central Oregon mountains.. Bachelor, The Sisters, Broken Top.
And this song, annoying. Changing station. No! Try the find the Art in it. Or lack of Art. Think it’s at least mildly fair to say my poems hold more substance than this piece. Or maybe not. Self-deceit, delicious.
Only wanting to speak poem’d. Paragraphs, sentences, boring me. Not seeing a whole lot of Art in their borders, waters. Just had an idea to venture outside, away from this office. Maybe there’s more Art out there. There has to be. Around me, currently: cluttered sea. Yes, everything’s off desktop, but a claw of rubbish tightens talon about my space.
No wine tonight. Think I may search for a new beer. But what. Palate fatigue, with wine, universally. Have to find Art today. Anywhere.
My job.
To Create it.
On. Page.
(1/3/13, Thursday)