Return to poetry.

Revelations and realization after today.

Music… me, stronger because of what happened.  I’m so committed to blasting past this.  They angered the wrong poet.

All of them, just finger-pointing blobs, irrelevant and batty.


Kids here.  Jack is convinced he did well on the test.  So proud of him.  Waiting for my parents to come over, for dinner as they won’t see the kids for over a month.  Me, trying to shake a mood.  Focusing on tomorrow, and the attitude of dismissal, useful dismissal, what some would qualify as ‘not giving a fuck’.  That’s where I am.

Wine event tomorrow.  Not in the mood but convincing myself to go in as a gatherer.  Of stories, words, composition and  music – poems, statements, realizations and fascinations, incantations.

Poems… verses.  Everything is a story, the Now IS the Story.  Pen on desk next to keys and wallet, the coffee cup that says I [HEART] Bodega Bay, CA…. FREE.  In this condo.  Not having to run anything by anyone.  Old fired today urged me to run something by my “wife”.  Told him that’s not the case anymore, and I can do whatever the FUCK I want.