…but it was my stupid ways that earned me the flimsy thin piece of Orwellian paper (more like tissue, or something from a detention center, some napkin or bathroom roll). Then this devil laptop running an update and fucking up everything I had. Again my fault. Both were my fault. And the wind they’re threatening tonight, not yet here. Reluctant to be satirical or snarky as that’s what made me feel a clownish knob a couple days ago, me making fun of the wind predictions and angering people on social media and just not sitting well in the writer’s composition.
Ordered a pizza.. think guy is here. He is. Wait….
Have pizza. Dinner break. Paired with a Rose first and then the Zin I opened night before last in El Dorado Hills. Have to let certain things go, if I’m to materialize a manuscript arrow.
Learning that thought is a snake you have to tame. Exercise it too much and you’re struck, incapacitated. Tonight I get Kerouac, I get Hemingway, Hughes, Plath, and Coltrane. Not concerned with direction coherence or even sense.