from this morning’s thousand

18 Dec


…speaking at other campuses…. Tell myself that all boxes need no longer exist, have any tangible credibility or immediacy.  That only is at my 12 what I wish be.  Today’s different.  Monday.. that day so many hate.  I won’t lie, this morning felt like a Monday, for me as it surely seemed one to the wee beats.  Emmie, utterly unappeasable, and Kerouac not happy with any turn of minute, moment, second.  Here be the writer, though, here at this desk like I am so often and the production crew on the other side of the wall readying for their day.  As they make wines and get each lot and block, vineyard and possible varietal intersection ready for its bottled life, I construct and compose my own onus.

Refusing to stop… it’s Monday.  I’m to be more ahead of the day than I’ve ever been ahead of a day.  Luckily there…

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