…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.