Home, and


I relax. On floor. Nightcap, one of those Lagunitas, ’13’ ales or whatever they’re called. I look through and obsess over my pictures. Not that any of them are any good, I just look at them, pretending they’re good, or decent, or would catching someone-out-there’s interest, in some random by-chance way. Listening to Hutcherson, at a low volume and coupled with this light it has me thinking I’m on the Road, somewhere, traveling and blogging, taking pictures and writing. Waiting for my next sip, want to prolong, not wanting to end my time down here so soon. Tomorrow, a day all to me. No daddy daycare. Just writing and planning for this Summer term, lectures and ideas, singular words. That may be the first idea I stress to them, SINGULARITY. And why not.


This evening, bath time with Jackie, listened to chilled wine beats, thinking again of being on the Road, in some café, writing, about where I was, what I saw and what I heard, what I tasted. Today was just what I wanted it to be, yes starting a bit more rough than I would have like, but the story talked me out of my mood, I victor’d, and now am where I am. I’m convinced, nothing can get to me now, where I am as this new beat and with my sax solo in everything I do, random percussion and piano peregrination.

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The writer, calm. More than just “calm”, but composed, coherent and relating to my other tints and tilts in a somewhat newly logical manner. I’m home. And I won. The day approached me, wanting conflict, and I accommodated. Won. What does tomorrow have? Doesn’t matter. I’m thinking now I run 10+ miles, in the old neighborhood, from Yulupa to Summerfield and into Howarth— SHIT, that means I need to charge the watch. Eh, I’ll do in morrow— NO, now… Want the victories to compile. Have to get on the Road soon, SOON. Time’s shelling me with its reminders.


Thought about stopping with that paragraph but I just want to write, and freely, and teach whatever it is I think I have to teach, and after today it’d be this: LIVE. Life is only on lease, or loan, or short-borrow. Time will always win, eventually, but that doesn’t have to stress us. It should motivate us, especially as writers. For students, or anyone “following” this blog: How do you deal with or combat time? How conscious of it are you? Does it influence your mood?

img_4208Starting to feel the toll of Lagunitas. Forgot this had a higher ABV, or higher than most other beers I drink, which hasn’t been much lately. Yes, I’m definitely tilted from these tilts of the small stubby bottle. 11:03— Hope my wife’s not mad I’m up a little later than usually, and if she is, then she is. She knows who she married, and she knows how I’ve lately been, always writing and toujours with a book in my hand— again last night revisiting ‘Sur’, seeing myself on the beach, with Alf, sipping some Sonoma County Cab from the bottle, watching waves dance and approach, encroach with some visual and poetic aggression.


I can only have these those and while-awake dreams at home. Autumn Walk Studio, reminding me I have so much more work to do, and so much more to see, capture.