COOKIES. Ones my neighbor Ms. Nichole made. 

Just got off a call with her, driving back from somewhere North.  Grateful for such humans.  I don’t say that often, not that that’s supposed to mean something but… our conversation turned something, reversed a foremost form about the Mike Madigan story.

MUSIC… person, meaningful.  The music you make with other characters not knowing it.  Our conversation told something to me.. yes I’ve had wine, but I think of a coffee shop, like I told her.  Coffee and cookies, and cheese plates and kaleidoscopic charcuterie boards from Ms. Kerri….  Fuck going to bed, and fuck these devils that just want to coat my code and onus in nay-say.  NEVER.

The call with Ms. Nichole made me a more confident send, something climatic didactic.  Meant to write something but forgot… tonight I’m Kerouac and HST like told her… Plath.  “If I’ve killed one devil I’ve killed 2…”

The poz loft, easily the best and most beatific beat in this post-divorce course.  More and informed character chord.  Glass of the J. Rickards Zin.. huh.  Thought I wasn’t a “zin guy”.  This is art, though… this is what Mr. Kerouac had on his lap.