At desk taking another break in the Composition of this course I’m writing.

The REALEST Real…. Walking outside, time for a meditation…

16:32

Day over, sent EOD.  Packing everything, but first the writer needs a moment to see what he is.  What he was turned into, by SELF mostly, but yes some outside influence.  Much to what I credit and thank for this fearlessness about me.

I’m as fucking authentic and RAW as you’ve ever seen me as a writer, poet, creative…

Speaking to reps about presence, passion, finding passion in the otherwise routine, and expected.

Close one book

To open another

What else to do

What do they expect

For me to stop living

No, an option not entertained or

Acknowledged.

The fire is only touching more sky, ground, glares

—

Time to leave.  The days here pass quick, unlike that past fucking hole of sales bullshit and corporate mood-mud.

HAPPINESS.  They tried to assassinate it, mine, and ME.  But, obviously, I’m enlivened and emboldened and empowered. MADLY.