my brain is cold for some reason this morning. This isn't new only new for today. If this were another day it might even be considered normal, but not today.
The day starts with Pachabel, this is also the tune that my wife walked down the aisle to when we married. I am nearly offended when the spell check does not contain Pachabel in it's volume until I click 'add to dictionary' and then the world is in rights again.
My knee itches and as I am trying to satiate the desire through my slacks the thought flashed through my mind that if I excised the leg about eight inches above the knee many of my problems may be solved - since one of those problems is also my life I decide to push harder with my nail until I know there is no moment when the need is satiated and the bother ceases.
I learn this morning (already knowing but not formulating into words) that while I am writing I can only do so to silence, Typewriter or pencil sounds and/or classical music but not Beethoven, otherwise my thoughts stop as if zero Kalvin is achieved and I am comatose in brain but brought to stark rage at the source of sound, like voices, or eyes.
Lucien Stryk makes me happy.
Plath does not but makes me want.
Bukowski makes me want to read Bukowski.
H.D. makes me want to read Keats.
Mainly now I want to go to bed or make more coffee.
With the tornado warning outsideI think I may simply go to bed.
- Hoc Scripsi
Filling out copyright forms is the easiest thing to do on the planet next to running a coffee shop, but I hate doing both and only did one this morning. The other I haven't done in 3.5 years and hopefully never will again.