Making up my mind on certain things.

More music, more lawlessness.  Not moving so fast but keeping the spree of thought sped and wit a sharply intended peripatetic edge.

Deciding to wake earlier, which this morning absolutely didn’t happen.. last night me up late writing, about wine and writing itself, ideas to share with future students possibly and how I’m 41..  Tired of my words, the myriad and pot of plainness.  What do with my tongue, poetry added in all lung extensions.. more music.

That has to be the solution, the additive which heighten the altitude of my being, my sittings like this in the morning where my buffoon neighbor washes his larger that large and commanding presence of a compensatory truck, blaring heavy metal or some angry white folk music.

I block it out.  The disruption has me stalwart.  I turn my beats to higher audibility, promoting only wicked sensitivity… more poetry in my immediacy… test self and pull wishes from a once pushed-aside well…