Trying to force Self to write, but I have no interest. Even poem, song. Just a little drained after night’s sessions. Much better than Tuesday.. no tech, this night. I’m in modes laughably lazy. Watching some idiotic show on E!. Not even naming it, as I don’t think it deserves a plug from any writer. Sipping the rest of the ’08. Tells me to ditch this prose, these boring confessional paragraphs. Flee to poetry, where I can compose truly free. Tomorrow night, when back from Mom & Dad’s, I want several standalone poems printed, assuming I have the ink. I’d better, I need these pieces paginated, already. No more incubation in the bowels of this cursed laptop. Again, after Tuesday night, I’m devoutly anti-tech.
Decided I deserve a raise. So everything I tomorrow night print, I sell.
White noise at this point, the TV. What if I took a half-day with morrow’s slide? I don’t know, still feeling ursine from what was addressed, last night’s entry. Only moving in Art’s context, that’s all I’m concerned with.. finding Art in everything. Honesty, honestly. But still, no whim to write. Why? Why tonight? Maybe I just need sleep. Already thinking about my wine, that barreled Merlot, me tasting it tomorrow. Wonder what it’s doing right now. AND, 11MKCS, how is it shaping, RIGHT NOW? Targeting as many wines as I can tomorrow. Want new suggestion in profile; new thought, characters, reaction. Down to my last sips, tonight. Going to make it 1 [sip], so I can move on… Done. Now, just focused on what little writing I’m willing to do. Till I retire, 2nite, jotting only a couple rhymes, for tomorrow night’s printing.
10:26pm. Don’t want to be blog-focused, ever too much, but I’m only allowing Self to post rhyme tomorrow. That’s it. poeTREE, only. Immersing into Morrisonian spins. Walking through all Doors. Stressing expression.. ExpressionISM. No more schism.