DAY 94: fr 2/13/15 (2 pages, no edits..)

Stomach in unrest for some reason.  Don’t feel sick or like I’ll be sick by part of my functioning is displeased, and I think with last night’s order.. oh well.  Taking the little Beat to SF, then back up.. may drive around the city, find a place to write, why not?  MAYBE, I should find City Lights!  Yes!  And it’s right there on Columbus, so I think I can just take Geary, right?  I’ll write where Kerouac did, Allen, and all them!  Wonder if there’s a coffee shop nearby.  Yesterday still on mind, the activities, hearing Michael talk, lessons for Tuesday, my recent re-connection to poetry and songs.. so much to think about, and  maybe I’m overthinking but that’s where my thoughts are.  I’ll find three spots to read, invite students!  Make a trip of it!  Have to organize all the ‘Square’ poems, put them in ONE location.  Maybe a folder, manila file or something.

Stomach a little more calm since I sat up straight and started writing.  Dark, quiet, no fridge hum, 6:03.. Jackie in our room, with Alice, I hear nothing at moment.  Hard to type quietly, so what do I do, stop?  No.. not this deep into the project.  So, at the end, I’ll be: 1, out from winery’s strangle; 2, a PERFORMING poet, again; hopefully with 2 classes for summer (first time that’s happened in about 5 years, since ’09), and, 3, more ready for the 5/17 marathon.  My running habits have been horrid, of late.

Jack down here with me now, coffee just finished brewing in kitchen, I’ll get in a bit.  Thought I had my thesaurus down here, guess it’s still upstairs on desk, which is much less cluttered and disheveled since tossing that printer.  Envy Jack for going to Monterey.  I could use a run down there, or a writing session by the level, at Lover’ Point or just on Cannery.  Anything.. I see myself touring with poems, songs, shorter prose pieces– so I let my mind go in that direction, not drinking in hotel room (nice bottle of wine as I used to envision), but staying up most of the night, writing on the Road as I always saw, if I sip any wine in a new hotel room in a new town I’ll miss completely the Newness of it all!  Going to look more into City Lights, what’s around it.. go for a walk where JK did, and see what he saw only years, many years later and in a different position.  I don’t want any schedule today, no 2do list as I had the other day, or yesterday.  Today I’m free.  And in the Comp Book I’ll scribble as I walk and when I sit.  I’ll write down every– no, there I’m scheduling.  My ONLY aim, reach City Lights, go in, walk around.. easy.  Going to miss the little Artist.. his birthday, 2 days from now.. and 3 years old, how did that happen?  What happened to time?  I’m on the couch with him now as I many times am in the morning and the Life we share evolves faster than I can catch it, “catch it”, like it’s some animal or prize, maybe the idea is NOT to catch it, maybe it’s process of growing itself that I need love and focus on.

Sipping coffee, something in me doesn’t want me writing, no fingers touching the keys, something around me or in me.  My stomach has settled so I don’t know what it could be.  I tell my students I don’t believe in writer’s block, and I don’t, but something to that clap hunts me, encircles my presence and aura and effort, I just ignore it, or type through it; focus on singular object: Jackie’s toy dumptruck, the large yellow one that his fills with other toys and pushes down the hall and into the kitchen and back again, repeats, repeats the last repeat.  And his little bank atop the TV closet, the one in the character of a plane, some old propeller’d craft whose front many times falls off spilling money everything, ‘cause he always plays with it or asks me if he can have it after being reminded from visual (like when I pick him up) that it’s still there.  Alice still in bed, tired, still under her recent weather.. glad mine’s done/  Poems, more poems, and places to read, arrange the poems and songs for performance or possibly recording, some podcast or radio show, maybe, without being too commercial.  Recently reconnected with my cousin Jerome, a lifelong musician and he solicited a collaborative wave of some sliding, both of us creating something, which we haven’t done since we were kids.. I’m with raised brow, intrigued and interested and moved.. so what do I bring to any interactive table?  Not familiar with his material.  And when can I get down to Capitola?  Maybe the next time I visit Alice’s ‘rents with her, bringing the little Beat to see his sea-sided grandparents.

Coffee done and I’m in need of another already.  Hear Alice coughing upstairs and I can only feel for her.  Suggested yesterday that she stay home, mend, rest.  And of course she objected, understandably with her fervor and work ethic– and the shower goes on, she’s going to work.  I must and will support her, much I adamantly object.  I reach to rub Jackie’s back and he snaps at me, lashing “No!” Cranky, my little boy.  I laugh, but not so he can see, don’t want to antagonize him or think I’m making fun of him.

After a horrible run, a surprise visit from a contractor that we didn’t even summon– oh, and the drive back from SF, and the clogged artery that is 19th Avenue (today wildly wickedly stuffed, don’t know why), I finally had the opportunity to take the same kind of shower I did the other day, where the roomed flexed vaporously and I inhaled, relaxing, nearly forgetting where I was an what obligations I had or have or will have for this day.  3:41, tempted to have a beer but I resist as coffee sounds better.  Only ran 3.33 miles in warmer weather than I have in a while and after getting up early this morning, not being able to reattach Self to rest, and being in the car for so long I was set to be slugging in my stomping.  So I have now, all these blogging ideas.. yes, BLOGGING ideas, possibilities on how to build, expose my writing and little whimsical photos.  Would love to get a beer up the street, just bring Comp Book and– oh yeah, and no City Lights.  I did sincerely intend on visiting, but the run called me, only to fail in its coursing, damnit.

Just looked through the pictures I took with the camera, Wednesday, of the mustard flowers (think that’s what they are), and there’s only one I like, honestly.  Need to get out again…  No poems written for day so far; none for performance, none haiku, or tanka, nothing yet.. how ‘bout some beats now to recite to.. no caffeine in me — and that’s one other dimension that may have hindered me on run, a bloody caffeine crash!  Tomorrow, 6 miles, and I don’t care if I have to run so slow it’s a glorified walk!  I’m hitting 6!

Was tempted to nap, but no, had to write, had to do something, had to recover or make such effort from the failure of the run.  Music, poems and songs.. going to time self with the two pieces I began in Comp yesterday.. it’s right here, open to page.. ready.  Can’t wait to read in front of a crowd again, perform, speak to them and connect and command.  Have my words everywhere!  And this blog will help, and I thought about the whole Ox in a Bottle reality.. or an abundance of any energy or mass being stuffed into or trapped in bottle…  I started this blog over 3 years ago and just now I’m seeing more to its opportune label.