Sitting in this Fairfield Peet’s and writing for the first time is perfectly timed, right before the 1st of this new year where I’ve vowed to myself to travel, with the Nurse and maybe or definitely for work.  And by work, I mean this.  Writing.  Blogging.  Noting everything in the mental health effort and project and exploration, and everything.

There so much on the blank page – a proverbially cosmic invite.  The lights don’t cease in their pristine beam.  I’m talked to by the year’s last day.  Lectured, but gently.  Ideas compounding and resounding and sounding in new musical movements, new Beat making me one of the mad ones with Sal and Dean.

1001 words, every bloody day this new year.  No exception , and all to be of the yay-saying yodel and positive voltage.  Gratitude roars and quakes.  

Right where I need to be before 2024 opens its doors, decides to have its fold known. Meditating in this coffee shop to old what I’d call soda shop rock.  Everything teaches, gives me reason to love more and show more appreciation for the scene.

10:16 —> Calm overtakes me.  A precise and pervasive placidity.  Finally, as I texted Mom.  All timing is perfect from the right translation, not “assessment”.  Realizing that you are where you are, and that’s the instrument.  That’s the runway, the postmodern promise you’ve been hoping would find you.

Man sits down at the long table with me.  Sitting across from where I was, two men earlier since left.  I keep thinking about the gambling talk.  Younger bloke only bringing $40 and then he’s done, urging the older fella to travel out to OK and have a good time with Terri. This is the Story itself talking to me, I know it.