Santa Rosa, Ca.
Wrote another thousand for book idea, or effort, or whatever it is. In dark here in office, writing and collecting listening to Coltrane of course and easing into day.
This morning, much more eased and agreeable than yester’s. Onward, with coffee, music, poetry, THOUGHT, reasoning what I want and how to get there, to my There.
About 20 minutes left to self. Then into role, mode, actuation and actuality of one working on a Saturday. Will be in city tomorrow with family for little Kerouac’s birthday. Excited to not have to drive, walk around the streets with no other intention but to do just that. Think we’re hitting the Exploratorium and I don’t know what else. Either way, the writer needs just such a day.