yesterday still encircles a sipper with swagger and sense. But I have to stay focuses, and centered, even if my current subject is this varietal, Merlot, wish I could have another glass but I need to wake early tomorrow and take little Kerouac to his school and ready myself for a run that very well may be in the rain, but I’ll still go. I can’t forget about my marathon which is I-don’t-even-know-how-close. After the run, which should put me here at home near 10AM, I’ll go to campus, get into character, print an article before the 1PM collection of the 3PM groups’s papers. Why don’t they just have the final time at the regular meeting time? Yet another convoluted convenience in academia. My budget, have to get it done. Think I have one more check to write then I’m secured. The Merlot’s starting to catch me but I’ll ignore it for the most part– self-publishing! City Lights tradition! Beatnikology!
Rain. And it’s back, for me, for this street, Yulupa, and for my drive tomorrow and for the view from the 4th floor. I fully expect to change seats a couple times in that four hour span of meditation. But as long as the drops continue so will I. I have to commend this weather’s inexorable intent. And I sleep better because of it, and like other morning with those drops on the sunroof window, like little kisses to my vision for me to keep going, more than encouragement like a love letter more so, one genuine and not plotted or plan just for the moment, for me, for the connectedness of everything connected to a sentence, to new words and stories, as each rain storm or flurry or even drizzle’s a story, abbreviated or extended. And the rain doesn’t worry about edits or revisions or even reformatting, it just pours, drops and descends, writes what it wants to. How is that not enviable? It just rains! I only hear applause in my wiring. This is a beatnik’s moving, not a movement as people understand but a moving, a new motion, one unplanned, scattered, disorganized and delicious! Paragraphs overlapping and intermingled and blended kaleidoscopically. I want my son to read this one day, and love and appreciate the rain as I do. And Alice, my wife, the resolute reader, I hope one night sits to one of my pourings, one of my emotional and confessing deluges, downpours, or like tomorrow: hurricanes. OR would it be a tornado? Tomorrow’s writing will break any record or feat or milestone I’ve consummated. Over 2000 words for the day.. how would the meteorologist report that? How would I? Not so much a storm but certainly a front visit. Today is notable, but not historic. I don’t even know if it’s a memorable raining of sentiments or thoughts but again it’s there, for you to read if you’re still reading. And now I have to get ready for bed, and for tomorrow. My first run since 12/6. No more knee pain, and the hips seem to be brave enough, so we’ll see. Bonne nuit, lecteurs!