11:47, Chris leaves. I stand outside for a bit, talk to a local looking in our window and at tasting flight. Hungry already, not eating till far past 12pm. These days go by so far, my Caddis Sundays. Still tired from yesterday’s event.
Today, notes… less sentences and paragraphs. More music.
Feeling old, cramped legs, needing to sit more. FUCK….. don’t think about it, how many times have I told you…. Saying to self, looking out window. Tired of Thievery Corporation…. Love them, but listen o tit too much.
More and more thinking about music, making my own again. Nowhere in our smal-ass house to put any gear and even if there was I know the kids would fuck with it. And let’s say they would’t, and I would be making all this music, all these beats instead of writing. Is that what I want? Of course not. Just closer to music than I have been in a while.
More poetry then.. music with syllables, letters and fragments…. Quick poem written. Taking out journal after posting this. Gift to self, possibly – poetry only, strict diet of verse observation. MUSIC.