again: Why am I seeing these things now, so late, at THIRTY-FUCKING-FIVE? I have this urge now to be yes a novelist and fiction writer but as well a journalist. I blame Hem, and Hunter S. I’m inspired so easily but this will be the last time. This is the type of writer I am now– so now: Alive upstairs asleep as is little Kerouac and I’m here on the couch and these punching of the Apple keys seem to be louder in presence and sound wave. I should go to bed but now I’m feeling full as I did the other night. Don’t want to wake feeling sick as I did. Will have some sparkling water– that sounds lovely. Alice bought me some Perrier the other night. -10:10PM
I’m still up and I should be asleep. My wife will be angry, I know, but I’m bubbling in curiosity and ambition and inner-riot. I love this. I WILL be up at 5AM.