tower test

Back from 10 mile run.  Getting blood work done tomorrow, finally.  Mom holding that bottle of artisan Central Oregon beer hostage till I do.  She’s been warden to this bottle for over 6 months, I believe.  How loving moms are…  Sipping sparkling lime, right before dinner.  Then, only still water, from purifier.  12 hour fast.  Repulsive.  Tomorrow, assured a nice bottle opened.

Phone fixed today, with visit to store.  Guess it was lint that obstructed cord from its connection.  Anyway.. enough of devices.  Started a new short story.  Yes, actual SHORT STORY.  Not a word over 1,000, my limit.  Have 300, so far.  This new direction, inspired by former student emailing me one of her pieces.  And the piece Jim, former coworker submitted.  He actually handed in 2.  Not sure how much I’ll contribute to my new piece, as the run’s 10-mile toll’s making itself known.  Blanking, with nothing to write.  Need to take some shape of a break.

Need to put more focus into these standalone pieces, rather than this streaming diarism– which utterly contradicts what I wrote recently ‘bout putting more into what seems to work for me as a Writer.. this b/log.  Not going to overthink. Keep writing.  Something’ll happen.  There, I feel better.

9:04pm.  One thing that came to light only tonight: I avoid bringing projects to a close.. I’m afraid to end them.  Then, I grieve in how I can’t finish anything.  Why am I just seeing this now?  Another thing I noticed, on my run, was that I used to long for much.. big house, nice car, vacation homes, wardrobe, ‘mongst else much.  But now, I wish only for freedom; paper, ink, finished books.  Maybe some travel.  These two metaphysical luminary platters, getting me closer to road.  Getting new short to 500 words.. then STOPPING.  The piece will be finished in morrow, right after blood test.

Didn’t finish 3 tracks, surprise surprise.  But I will be sure 1’s done.  Left off at 2nd verse.  This song’ll be blended into book, into this 61-pg collection.  Like the rhymes that I’ve bent to fit into its body.  Thought of another on run: “…too explosive to be let in to Dresden…”

Was so funny watching Jack react to all stimuli at Costco.  Just checked on my little Artist.  Enjoying his sleep.  I wish him only the most peacefully replenishing of overnight dormancies.

9:47pm.  509 words.  Done for night.  Not looking forward to that needle.  But I’m getting it out of the way.  Finally.  Should I run tomorrow?  Maybe 25 minutes, fit 3 miles in?  See how I feel.  Will have to be during day, as Alice has to babysit her friend’s daughter [eve].  Will give me some writing time.  Definitely need to open something.  Tempted to pop another Rosé from winery.  But no.  Need to have something new, something unfamiliar.  Like what?  Could cruise by Cellars of Sonoma, my friend Scott’s place, see what he’s pouring.  Would love a nice Bordeaux, Merlot or Cab.  BUT WHAT?  Maybe I should just go to Bottle Barn, or BevMo.  Need to operate in budget.  But what’s my budget?

Thirsty.  Want a sparkling water, but have to settle for boring still.  Ugh…



8/7/13–  Finished yesterday’s spoken piece, and just wrote a 36-line, single verse piece here at 12 & Mission.  Was going to write at Mom & Dad’s, as they’re in Oregon and I’d have a silent cell2Self, but I came back here, where I bought morning mocha, scone.  Haven’t eaten yet.  So glad the test is done.  My fear, or more HATRED, for needles to this day viciously persists.  Both syllabi, pretty much done.  Not putting much energy into them aside from typing basic info on class, grading, other policy.  MY efforts will be given to the lectures, the REAL work I want to do in helping my dear students.


Haircut on mind.  Time, 11am, exact.  Need to be home at 2pm.  3hours from now.  So, what to do?  The internet connection here, horrible.  Another bump with technology.  Woman sitting around corner, right, with huge binder, laptop, scattered paper pieces.  Stresses me just looking.  Loving this simplistic session.. only legal sheets out while writing verses, now only laptop as I type [sheets back in black bag].. pen just put away.  Only other items on table with writer: empty “grande” cup, phone– which I don’t need in front of me.. don’t WANT under nose.

Still overcast outside.  Wonder what the weather’s like in Paris.  And speaking of which.. I’ll finish the new short story tonight, while Alice is away, and I sip whatever red I elect.  Actually, think I may pull that Pinot from upstairs stash.  Sounds good, really.  Haven’t had a nice Pinot in a while.  Closer to the Road.  Know I always say that, but I honestly believe, now, with what I realized about Self yesterday.  Two standalones completed today, another tonight.  On first trip, hoping to go for run in new park, somewhere quiet, lose Self in new setting while jaunting.

Think the man next to me just peeked at screen.  What I hate about writing here.  There’s a free table to his left.. why doesn’t he scoot so?  I’ll never understand it.  Now, vent blowing cold air down to left forearm.  Not pleasant, at all.  Now, a young lady, one of the employees, holding sample tray, talks to him.  Hear her through music provided by these small phones.  Need2leave.

But I want to write a bit more.  With nothing to record.  Three 20-somethings off to left, front, by window, talking about boyfriends, girlfriends.  One girl, two guys– these sentences aren’t working.. thinking too rimedly.


alleys, seized, me displeased,

leaves lost–

just to see, join a joint of thieves..


12:56pm.  Back home.  Need more coffee.  And didn’t touch the scone.  Mood, falling.  So mad I took the wrong key set.  But, the café session did work for me, finishing those 2pieces, so I can’t complain 2much.

Mood become a fanged arachnid.  Need cup now.. brewing French Roast, pretending I’m in my city, on Îll St-Louis.  Hope I spelled that right.  Study my French more–  Or, doivent étudier plus, si je suis d’apprendre cette langue.

8:02pm.  Little Kerouac, out.  Me, downstairs.  No light.  No music even.  Just an empty bottle of Little Sumpin’ [right, on floor by bag], charging cell [left], and open blinds, with sky letting me know time’s not playing, it wants a fight.  Fine, I resolve.  On word 887 in new short effort.  Will be done by night’s close.  Planning to print tomorrow morning, bring to work for lunch read– drat, have to top barrels.  Maybe I could leave home early, read in parking lot.  Idea, maybe…

Need another.  Going to wait to heat burrit’.  Opening a blend tonight, to pair with.  Open to a little wine enjoyment, but not much.  Should run tomorrow night, from work.. the Lawndale sprint, see what time I can put into log.

9:25pm.  And the short’s draft, 1st draft that be, DONE.  Sipping some of the ’10 blend.  Tonight, tasting better than I’ve ever met.  Quite relaxed.  But won’t let Self get excessively so.  Need to outrun Bordeaux’s influence.  So I’ll keep typing, as I did during last writing retreat.  Thinking tomorrow I’ll blend both barrels with something unexpected, just to see what happens.  I want to make wine as a WRITER, not a wanna-be chemist.  I’m focused on character, palate presence, not “phenolics.” Need another sip, and want to re-read what I wrote at café, those lines, rhymes, verses.  Need music now.  What am I doing watching this rerun?

Feel effects, but I’ll keep writing.  Checking little Kerouac on monitor…  So eased in his sleep.  Envy his youth, I won’t lie.  Here I am, 34, slower in stride.  OR am I?  Should hit Lawndale tomorrow, definitely.  Wonder if Carmen’ll with me go.  I can run alone.  I should, really.  Need to run as I write.. surrounded only in my solitude.  Time to edit, not my favorite slice.