9:08 back from dinner, Mom and Dad just left. Bookcase up and situated in the poz loft office, glass of Pinot.. thinking. About my words, actions, reactions, conversation and composition. Looking at the Paris picture, listening to Coltrane, another sip… when have I ever been this happy and at peace, truly compose and in my character of characters.
Not listening to some voices.. night. Ready for zen, rest, but more music. Coltrane’s scales and notes and shifts in tone and key tell me to keep with my keep, consistently. The way the music sounds in this office, turning around and seeing Paris knowing it’s ahead of me soon, either by myself or with family. No devil as companion. Past that part of life. All I need is quiet, the page… no hostelry when I’m trying to be distanced. I’ll be honest, the last 48 hours have been proverbially pedagogical, and I’m sure some would have a comment about that description. I’m too old to care. Being in this office listening to a track or two with my parents, smiling, realizing that we’r free of certain cacophony, liberating exponentially.
100+ tomorrow. So if I’m going to run it needs to be early. I stop with he run thoughts, this office, my favorite room and floor in this condo. Now Thievery Corp…. The joy and relief and revive of Mike Madigan’s character is consuming. More wine… oh shit, laundry. Forgot I had laundry going and tonight’s a wine and laundry night. In no way in any mood to do laundry, but I know I have to. Like, honestly, really, I have to. No clothes to wear. The fact I found this shit I have on, miraculous.
Listening to a Thievery track that always has me thinking…. About everything. Me, the Road. Notes…