My mood this morning after an electric and fiery 1A meeting, elevated, as has been everyday since leaving the winery. Look how alive I am, DEVIL! I’m aloft and following my ideas and lectures.. and I’m more than a “perfectionist” as someone at the winery once called me as related to my teaching, more now than any set of students or loved ones has me viewed.. I’m stoic in my militancy, and I won’t budge, just as I didn’t the last 2.5+ years. Now, I’m simply gliding, but with intent, no friction. 10:07, and I’ll give myself till 11:05 to write, I’ll stay here, in the nook this morning not on the couch as I usually am, enjoy the jazz and my second cup of medium roast. Soon to be 3rd. I know I told Alice I’d cut back, but I can’t when I feel like this, when I’m writing with this speed, and when I have all this poetry about my Personhood and it reveals itself in the form of narrative, the marathon writing I always cite– my bloody genre! Wrote a poem yesterday, “Loot”, which I’ll hopefully remember to post to whoso magazine’s corner later, but do I want to go to the café, or come back home? Just noticed there’s no music playing, I turned it off to re-read the 1B post above.. am I thinking critically? No, just thinking, and living, finally. Happy. Why am I so awed? That’s what twoandahalf years of clockpunching’ll do to you…..
Decided agains the third cup as I want to thrive in natural innate energy and momentum and not depend on the black puddle in mug, tho I will get a mocha or something on the way down to PC.. probably a mocha, with the milky music of palate and nonaggressive nuance and nobility.. praise the CRAFT, this morrow! In a geared and dancing dose of gemütlich, and my Personhood shines at the end of this project, which is precisely what I wanted! Cold, suddenly.. heater on for a bit, then more thinking, maybe a walk in the living room area, around little Kerouac’s toys.. (10:14).. plenty of time in my toiling here at the table, this nook, my corner, when my lovely wife relaxes in eve to watch her shows, or read or research on the couch, I give her space, escaping to mine, here, in this wooden chair; harsh in feel but comforting in zone and placement, what it brings me in terms of notions and entertainments, postulation.
Restroom used and I think of something to pose the 1B-ers: “Tell me about your day so far…” This idea catapulting itself to my conception and analytic slate by remembering what I thought this morning, driving in the dark on Mendo (L from College), just how dark it was, how different the world was at that hour, and my character was not yet sped, had not yet found it momentum, and all from it being absent, the sun that is. At the beginning of the term I referred to the early hour, 6AM and before, as its own ‘hell’. But I morph now in appreciation of; that’s heaven; that’s Peaceful, peppered with Zen. And with the coffee paired, it’s Nirvana for me, for a writer and STUDENT like me. Some will die punching a clock, just existing, never finding Peace or Personhood. I’m not one. I’ve found it. Or rather, it was gifted to me last Wednesday, before 10AM! And it’s profusely gracing those around me– Mom, Alice, little Kerouac, Dad, my sister (whose birthday will be celebrated tomorrow and I can’t wait to share this vibrant virulency with her!). Some will die, punching a clock and thinking that’s it for them, not me. I’ve found IT, the same way Dean did thought he did. Some will resign themselves to a name tag and a roll and a trudge through assigned duties.. not me, not a Beat, not a character with a CRAFTED musicality and sovereignty to their steps. I now have primacy to my pulse. And some will read this and dismiss it, try to disregard it, but like Dad said, “If you’re consumed with what others think of you, how could you possibly be thinking for yourself?” Celebrating my fifth celestial straight day of ascendancy! Mental vivacity, describing my varietal as I see and feel and using Sal’s narration as proof that all you need do is ‘take off’! 10:26, and I have so much more morning to enjoy! No coffee, not till after a I leave, a mocha.. should write Dav and share this energy with him.. I do owe him a more official letter, not just an emailed letter to the last email he sent me. Have I found Zen in this sitting, in this nook, this goddamn chair, so straight and hardened and bullying in its firmness?
On page three already. Should take a break, save the rest for the café..and when I land there, it should be about.. I don’t know.. 1:50-ish, maybe(?). Either way, I’ll have HOURS to write and read and meditate. Normally, at that time, last semester on Tuesdays, I’d be acting, repeating, trudgery– death.. but now rebirth. And my gratitude outweighs and drowns any resentment. In fact, I have none! Dickinson said “Saying nothing… Sometimes says the most.” I agree, that’s why I write. And right now, I don’t have to talk, as I used to. I don’t have to “look busy”. I don’t have to recite THEIR script. I AM busy, busying living, busy writing, busy being FREE, truly alive, not simply existing and checking off items on some contrived list.. oh look at me live and flip through pages– again, the dismissive on perceived higher floors and limp ivory towers dreject me, but I can’t hear them, nor can I see them cuz my head’s buried in a page, I’m too busy writing and thinking, dancing to my own BEAT. Settled.. onward.. sails….. Yeah, dismiss the Artist, you clock-cuddler! I’m skipping back and forth in life, as I ought see.. and you pedal/peddle in place. Sad.