I’m on the floor listening to spoken word beats, imagining myself reciting on stage across country, world, seas, little islands, wherever. The goal is to READ. My work, interpretations of others’ works. No frat boy sounds from behind the house this night. SO I can relax and be the writer I need be. Just a small sip of the Cab left, then I’m done. Up early in morrow for teaching, the ‘5’, last week of reg’ instruction, early drive after in-law gets here to help and get my coffee, largest fucking cup I can get tomorrow morning. May get that ridiculous size Starbucks offers. what’s it called?
Proud of Self for finishing/typing the spoken-word verse I wrote at work. Need to write more, three verse songs, four verse-ers, and those endless one-verse barrages.. more poetry, more! Have the decaf brewing, three cookies, then no more. then actually begins a fast. Ate horribly today. Don’t even want to recall it for you. I’ll log from 11PM and on, till dinner tomorrow night, no consumption. And I’m running tomorrow. To be in shape, use the hunger as a sort of Hemingway discipline. Keep writing, till I can’t keep the eyes and their lids useful.
Time for decaf.. some more writing, possibly, and just thinking. What if I didn’t write? That would be different. And that’s what I need— NO, what I need is quiet after a day like today. No voices, which is why I now listen to instrumentals meat to prompt and provoke, PROMOTE, verses, poems, writings random and to be read— Rule for tonight, no voices. Only music, and what I type, write, type, whatever. No mood, just exhaustion from this working/writing/blogging/living/loving ‘papablogga’…
10:30, back from coffee break, even though I very much have coffee next to the writer, next to the shoes of Jackie and some of his socks, my phone… I may stand some chance of waking at 4. Who knows. 4AM is more than just a simple formidable foe, it’s far more armed than I, with the dark outside and the quiet of the house.. all of its constituents and elemental makeup makes me, always, want to just fall back into the sheets, pillow. but can you imagine how I’d feel if I were to wake at 4, start writing by like 4:04, and all the way till 5:45 when my alarm sounds? Tomorrow’s a crEATive writing day in ‘5’, so what would that do.. much. And make my students see me a certain way, the way I want be seen: a writer, more than a “teacher”. Should do some research, on a couple things, ideas, then fly upstairs, think about tomorrow as I fall into a reflective image-driven consistency. Still with my day’s verses. Just wrote two couplets— huh, just realized that’d be ‘a couple couplets’. Day’s exhaustion now narrating, so pardon, please… Told Self I’d work till 11, but I don’t think the vessel has such vigor. So I clock-out. Why not. And I should, right? Especially if I’m to rise at the most evil of hours, 4, and run after class.