Overhead.  Always the death to Self-publishing.  Well, and the coffees I get in the morning, afternoon [T/TH].  But lately I’ve been using change for the caffeine shots.  Either way, need to tighten budget– no, suffocate it with pragmatism, logic.  Need to make mySelf a mathematician.  Or at least an accountant.  TOnight.

 

There, made a budget– well, a new one.  Have to stick to it.  And Starbucks in A.M., only allowed if there’s loose change.  No cash.  And that bloody iphone app: POISON.. DEATH to my goals.  The cash stash upstairs, pretending it doesn’t exist.

Not going to stress.  At all.  I’m making enough money, but I want to get us ahead.  The chapbooks, and mySELF as a brand.. one answer.  And the chapbooks, to be short in length, at least at first.  Need a glass of the SB I put in fridge.  Will set my running schedule at MWF, and one weekend day, in morning.  Always run in morning.  Can’t afford the night treadmill at gym.  And why would I?  Not just the money, but all those bloody people.  Since that weekend in SF, yes before that but especially since then, I don’t want many around me.  I’d rather be the writer inside his head, or in travel alone, than surrounded by characters with which he’s expected to interact.

And this writing, no more of it for free.  Seriously.  Going to budget my word count, with each post.  Can’t afford to just be “posting,” putting my efforts onto this bloody blog.

 

new terrain, explain–

little, more than more.

why do i need more?

i don’t, so

wont.

 

I’ll coin collect, till I get

a check.

pages ripped from noteCoffin,

for vend.. recite, but

only if you pay.

okay?

Night over continent,

paws up on

ottoman.

 

10/9/13