Chemically authorial, your dramatized approach, janitorial.
I pour real. The floor’s peeled.
Two lines I wrote last night, right before bed. This’ll be the only prose entry of the day. Soon, another poetry binge, meaning only versed entries. Need a break from paragraphs, sentences, punctuation.. any formality.. if I want a certain artistic lifestyle, I need write and live accordingly. Today, minimal grading. Mostly planning for tonight’s workshop. Only 3 reg sessions left. As busy as I am, especially this semester, poem is the best tool for my expression, to get across what I want to. More coffee? Why not. Want a couple standalone poems done before 10– or how about just 1 song. Not posting it to blog, but OFFblog. I swear, I love that “doc.” So free. Don’t have to watch what I say, in “fears” of some industry backlash.. but I don’t fear wine’s “industry” nor anyone in it, so that’s not really the nucleus of my delight or motivation in the OFFblog. I just experience more freedom, more of what I deem 2B Literary.
Into this 3rd, final, cup, I’m thinking about the morning’s symbols [which I detailed in the OFFblog]. Something being said, directly to the Writer. That, too, on OFFblog. Like I said the other day.. this new journal/project has to be the richest gift I’ve given to Self in some time. Need to bring it to some kind of quick fruition, or print. Or maybe I can print incrementally.. have constant release schedule, like musicians. Make no mistake, I’m a Writer, of Literary strain, but I want my habits, release pace to mimic some music presences. Like, and I’ll again cite, Tupac Shakur, with his Self-incarceration in studios, writing and recording a song, then simply moving onto next track, without hardly a drop of editing, fining. According to my research, interviews I’ve seen with people who worked with Shakur, he rarely listened to the finished song. He just moved on. THAT is what I’m aiming to emulate. Shorter entries, more of them, more constant, more believable.. more ME.
Jack, reorganizing his possessions, here in living room. He looks at me, smiles, as if to say, “You do the same.” “But how, Kerouac?” I’d ask. Trying to download some videos I shot the other day, of the bottling line. So frustrating, technology. Such a pain. Not at all Literary, or Artistic. So do I bloody bother? I’ll always be asking mySelf that, I feel. I like taking pictures, shooting video, but I always find mySelf in situations like this, with these devices, these demon machines. But then, I do like how the ordered photo sequence gives me a journal, of sorts, writing material. Recollections always acts advantageous means for pen movement– remembering certain moments, certain people, scenes, interactions, occasions, what have.
9:43am. Nice day, weather, from what I can see through blinds. I’ll be leaving today at around 1:30p, to fully prep for class, tonight’s workshop. Can’t wait till Fall, that English 5 especially. Have to keep all ideas for those sections in ONE spot. Could probably list four different locations where I’ve thrown thoughts for my anticipated section at the Petaluma campus.
They want me to stop, but that’s not an option..
No more discussion, my thoughts, all caught in combustion.