Jackie, still coughing, but not as much.  But after his 2+ hour sleep, he’s revived in a way I could only hope to be after resting, or even seven-plus hours for me.  Just back from getting second mocha.


Edited and printed a poem for chapbook.  Due before summer session.. due before summer session…  What I keep telling mySelf.  It’ll happen, though.  That’ll be my birthday present to my Self.


Music.. all I hear is jazz.  And like Kerouac.. I roll to be a jazz poet.. every line unorthodox, and all rime timed.  Dad asked me last night, “In a perfect world, would you rather be a writer or a teacher?” I answered, “Writer.” That would make my world “perfect”, I guess.  But if it were perfect I’d cease in being a Beat, right?  We thrive on the awkwardness of Life and its channels, crashes.