Run, now 

time with little Kerouac.  And coffee.  Have to post article from yesterday.  And just enjoy the day–  decided, yes again, that all will go to this blog.  No printing of small released, I’ve decreed with executioner’s definition and lean.

Left house at 6:11, was running by 6:12.  Want more of these early early runs.  Only time I have to run, honestly, anymore.  Time is like a metal beyond precious, so with it I fury to running and writing, always.

Jackie watches a cartoon and I struggle to concentrate and write some literary.  Maybe it won’t happen this morning– I mean, I can’t type a cannon-worthy composition every session.  In the tasting room today I want more personification of the wines, of me in the wines themselves, everything they say and do, express, animate to people sipping them.  Nothing woe-ridden or goop-gone this morning, negativity’s quit, been quit by me like a fed-up smoker fed up with their own self and the addiction itself, on what they’re hooked.  I’m done and then just starting, this day and the story of the runningwriterfather–  still hard to fixate on my page with the cartoons, but I’m in father mode without doubt, now.

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