Tag Archives: a thousand words a day


12 Feb

…me, here at this table, with people around me doing whatever they’re doing and saying whatever they’re saying (can’t hear as Hutcherson plays loudly in my ears like I’m his only audience).  The Moms leave, and I nearly want to bring them back, so I can just imagine what they’re saying, give that baby more dialogue, write him into an argument with his mother, and her friends, turn him into a master rhetorician, silencing the grownups in their belittling oppression, suppression.

I’m forcing myself to continue to push these keys as that’s what I advocate to them, the students, the ones whom I often regard as more serious writers than this typist, this over-caffeinated diarist with his dire attitude.  “I’m not leaving this chair till I have something to submit,” I tell myself.  But what’s my argument, my directive and colorful intention with this sitting.  Not sure.  Maybe the sitting itself, the man over there with his coffee and newspaper and how he just sipped and how he saw me see him sip it.  He closes the paper and leaves.  Damnit, I’m a danger to all around me, a writer.. he switches to the table where the mothers were sitting.  Why.  Did he want it this whole time?  Does he think I can’t see him and write about him now?  Clever bastard, he has his back boasting at me, disabling my observation of his sips and page turns.  Selfish chimp!

At my time I look, 35 minutes, few seconds more to my Self, this small circular table in the corner, just where I can see the baristas shaking these large square plastic containers with no tops.  Is that espresso?  Then they go to the drink-maker machine which appears though you need a fighter jet license to operate.. loud foamy steaming croaky sound—