Haircut Writing, in “salon” if that’s what you could call this place.. “I want to be a winemaker so I can write about it.” But it’s also about a boa-constrictor-esque desire to know wine better. Busy day today with new house, cleaning condo… No time to write but now. Income gaps I noticed, also stressing the writer; paid by JC on the 10th then Arista 15th and 30th. I need writing to sell, so yes, I’m returning to idea of printing, but I need keep all costs at a low 20 pages, 20 copies, 400 pages printed so that should be well less that $100, but that’s what I’ll budget– self-publish short stories and narratives & sketches. That will, or should, fill these incomegaps, and maybe get me to my Road, my travels. Mary from K—- in Peru with her husband Greg, texting me pictures and sharing her movement through ancient landscapes and artifactual structures and ‘scapes.. making the writer more a motivated manuscript molder, bold and animalistic, but also sinking my vessel, saddening me a bit. But I hone no time for such mood even though it persists as today is the day of the Santa Cruz run, what I was waiting for forever and now it’s here and I’m not running, I’m sitting in a goddamn hair salon or whatever this is to be called, I’m not running I’m simply getting closer to 36. 12 days. That’s it. Why am I so afraid of this new death reminder? I don’t know but this haircut hut also slows and sinks and taunts me with what it sings. I just have to keep this pen in stream and aim for those Kerouac word counts for day; 2000, 3000, 3500 words. For a goddamn novel, one I can afford to print, funded by my wine media and blogging ways, efforts and visibility, my projects. Love this little tablet writing while others read these smutty gossip publications (which I almost did, but then remembered I had these little pages in my backpocket).
= Older man walks in, cane, almost circus-like striped pants; 80s I’m guessing. Reminded again as my soul takes a spill that I age and I need to move quicker. Words & wine & work! Truthful & fervent work!
= Are people looking at me? Thinking, “What the hell is he doing? What is he writing?”
12:36PM; Chaos unpacking boxes from garage and Jack more than full of energy, got coffee on way home, grande medium roast, the mocha from earlier and its 3 shots worn off, so I need more energy with what’s at plate’s knock, present, so what now– more sips, keep up with electric motioned reality going on around me, move move move!