Brought self here, music. Beats. Playing over and over and taking me with them. In directions I didn’t see, foresee, forecast. The pages filling in this journal and I credit this, here, where I am, at Sonic. Have to keep writing new ideas for me, my team, but just the ideas for the ideas themselves. This coming year I will take what I want wherever I want.
Choices, decisions, destiny blended. I don’t know what this is.. where I am, what I’m doing. Consequence of choices or destiny, happenstance, intersection of all. I do, though, acknowledge where I am and what I’m doing. And from that there is love. There is wander and wonder, aimless exploration, stories and new stories. Feel like I’m dry, drought-stricken, out of words to put to page, but then I see the words are the act, are the subject— we need to write our thoughts. Yes it takes work and time, but that’s what confirms life. What confirms where we are, who we are, and why this character we’re given does what he and she does.
Place— coffee, the table, the self. The music I listen to, with electronic components, atmospheric beats with light hip-hop influence, easing my disposition and pace at which keys are hit. Belle musique, I say to self knowing I need more of my study, more of my exploration of French. Coupled with music, more, wine and travel, running… everything I seek will be no longer sought before 19’s close. New year reminding me of life’s cruel curtness. What can I do, what can WE do, but write. Write it all.
Two sneezes. Not getting sick, I order self. I not only can’t afford it but it will disrupt my writing for the coming year… lectures and essays, no “I” in any of them. Just the ideas. Not much “you” or “we”, either. Just the ideas. Ideas are what propel life, intensify and color it, make it Art.