Home, and finishing the [no edits]

rest of the Tribunal. A new start, a time to decide what it is I truly want to do. But I already know and I beam and glimmer in the presence of love; family, wine, writing, Literature.. the classes I teach, the students. Tomorrow, assured to be a challenging day, but it’s what I do, it’s who I am.. the teacher, the Literary soldier in front of the students, not letting a thing disrupt or sway me. Surprised how much coherence in character this red shows. And this is sold, where, Trader Joe’s? Definitely has a Zin zap to it, on the “finish” if you would, but maybe I’m misreading that. Maybe it’s Syrah, how should I know– Have to think about the morrow’s 1A– ‘Communication’, the consistency.. communicating ideas and moods and Morals.. remember, with me: MORAL PHILOSOPHY FOREVER! Dad would be proud, I know. So in communicating, we are demanded to write, to each other.. so, exercise: Literary Letter.. then, to the reading assignment… Mentions of Geography and memories associated, and money– “I dig life.” An appreciation of the Now.. the present and all in it, even if it’s turbulent. And as these characters ‘dig’ life, they dig themselves a hole. I can’t help but snicker at the significance with my own life. Sal and Dean are younger than me, yes, and I refuse to dig myself into any hole, whether shoal or abyssal . And how Dean calls “IT! IT!…we have no time now.” Precisely my feel after today, and I have support from Ms. Alice, and the students, both in 1A and 1B. Watch me tomorrow morning, watch me, watch the reaction, further confirmation that I’m where I’m supposed to be, doing what I really want to do, to quote… Like that character rocking in the piano seat, engaged and connected only to music, my music, the Beat that only I hear, that’s what it means to be ‘Beat’, or at least to me, now, today, after today… I breath in this hard chair, with its thin wood structure and posture, and I stare at my glass, empty, remembering I still have Dav’s most recent letter in the bag, my teaching bag, I haven’t read it yet– did I tell you I finally got it, the other day? Well I did. Amber still hasn’t responded, and I haven’t written my friend Lila in Idon’tknowhowlong. Life is moving, on, or past, and people I once cared for don’t care any more, they just pass.
The concept of ‘where’ I can only find fascinating, after today especially. Where we find ourselves and where we are and WHERE we want to be. Wishes and reality co-mingled for some reflective harmony, no? Where is more than a concepts, it’s a precept! It determines, it defines, it normalizes (if we let it). Today, one of the most filling and reverberant precepts I’ve ever encountered. My time for bed, near, and 12 hours from now I’ll be back here, writing, planning for 1B, and writing some more, so caffeinated that not even a police blockade could stop the writer. This is only the beginning. And I’m nearing page 5 for the day. Why not vent till then? But I don’t want to vent, not even a little bit, a smaller bit, no, I want to reel in positivity and expand in that fashion, and why not? I’ve been given a restart! Only cheerful in this day, with Alice and little Kerouac with me, here in this cozy condo. So, again, I win. And I always will. Haven’t felt this bomb of optimism since… huh. Not sure. Well, I am, but only few know the answer. I hope tomorrow gives me fog, to contribute to my Now’s myth, to lace my tale with a certain spell, one only found on this Sonoma side of the mountain. I’ll run after class, the 1B, tomorrow, thinking about all this, and laughing, as there’ll be no time noose for day next. Sovereign in the restart, the topic next… I miss the river, the Deschutes, riding my bike along that one bike path by Circle 10, or 11, when I was younger, with not these cares and stresses. But today I’m not stressing, or I’m not anymore. I’m reborn. Again, reconstituted and precise.

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mikemadigan

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