thought

22 Sep

21:34.  Love the hour, the sound of the dishwasher, even that goddamn dog barking behind the studio.  Everything is speaking to me— the Goofy stuffed animal doll-thing I bought Ms. Austen, the remote next to me, the dormant TV.  All around me encourages writing, reflection, some type of reaction.  Planning on waking earlier than early tomorrow, and I see it as more than a mere slice of feasible.  Why?  No distraction tonight, to sway to anywhere left, right.  I’m here stationed on this couch listening to a reading of Austen’s ‘P&P’.  These characters and the family dynamic and persistence to dilemma…. I can only think, and can only see Self lecturing on it, or establishing some purpose in her prose.  The words arrive then leave, and I switch to Coltrane, his thoughts through notes as mine through and by words.. everything making some odd sort of sense to a writer but then I calm and situate in my love for the hour, this hour, here in the studio—  Babies upstairs resting and me realizing as I said in class today that life is short, that you need actuate with urgency and both writers we discuss realize and rile just that.

Night… equanimity.  Similar but contrasting the harsh hour of morning, the 04:00 proposal I have before self.  What are you doing now?  What are you doing in the morning?  Are you testing yourself?  Your life is your life and you should be the puppet master I more than just one oscillation.  Stamp your own passport, sign your own form, deliver your own direction…. Tonight, promise yourself that tomorrow will be a plume of new notes…

Listening to Ellington & Coltrane’s “In A Sentimental Mood”.  One of my favorite tracks.  And that’s me, now, seeing all that can be met and seen and sensed, in the immediate form and locale.  Study tirelessly…. Yodel in YOU.  Prizes are promised, long as you self-test and actuate in the formed fate that you write, form.

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