Currency Room


This urge this morning, to do what I love… and that’s it.  Communicate, write, speak, present….  Last night watching a preview to a documentary about two guys that just did what they wanted, day in and out and all over again and it made them who they are.

Frustrate though as well, with the kids getting into my side of the office, and leaving evidence of their invasion.  Just the frustration of I’m sure several parents during all this covid shit.  But I’m at the desk now, moving, staying busy yes but displaying my hunger and not willing to halt or pause.

Pen, watch, this is my side of the office.  Need write more, more poetry, more verse.  Need to…..  Already bored with that direction.  The morning, or these sorts of mornings in quarantine, tend to be a bit odd.  There’s never a full focus, I feel. There’s never a total centeredness.  Even if I’m left to work on my pages and projects, there’s a noise somewhere.

The writer has to get through this… the writer has to make material of where he is.  The writer needs to know more about his Now….the freeness in the containment, the incarceration.  This is anything but, but it’s something.  I have something, something to work with and from.  There is nothing that contains or incarcerates here.  I’m in my house.  I can do whatever I want….  The mind and me are irreversibly at odds right now.  I’m the one who can write.  The mind is just a mind…..  And I control it.

Shelter in place… what if the place is a minefield of distractions and attention demands?  Then the writer writes through them, or around them…. Into them, from them.  The writer uses what’s present, not grieve over what’s absent or what he wished there.

Kids learning on their programs, my desk with the legal pad and everything else.  Order and disorder.  A knot of possibilities.  You won’t get this opportunity again, hopefully, and more than likely.  So stay in the chair, I remind myself that I remind student in composing essay.

Wine last night, not doing much.  Light, and plain, white and restrained.  Nothing said to me.  Should’ve gone to store, bought a red.  No.  Had the Gruner.  When did I have one, last?  Hard to say or even try to remember.  Getting difficult to remember days in this quarantine, Mike Madigan says to himself realizing he hasn’t charged his watch, thinking about his eventual office…. His travel.  Spain, Italy, China, not now obviously.  The world, re-climatized, with this covid print.  Write with it, not against.

Meeting starting soon.  No interest in it.  Only want to move in motions I choose.  Well, I don’t HAVE to go to the zoomfest, but I will.  Just get it over with.  Just be there and pretend.  You can do that right?  That’s not nice.  I do enjoy the people, just the obligatory fashion and nature of it I’m opposed to, I guess. Well, that, and it’s over zoom.

I’m starting to absolutely and quite angrily detest zoom with all this time into the shelter-in-place suggestion.