I keep doing it, all the time. Unspooling from one thing into another. Co-star says, "this part of you will change into something else."

May it be so.

Yesterday said:

You move through the part where the book titles evoke beautiful ideas to the part where they all reference authors some of of whom you’ve heard of, and some you haven’t, and it astounds you- someone’s obsession with a name you’ve never heard, and maybe you will read it and become obsessed too, a party to their obsession.

Outside the bookshop, where it’s been raining into the heat, where everything is green and growing is n spite of or perhaps to spite the pavement, the air smells like tea, herbal tea, and green onion.
You leave the door of the car open to smell it while you do what you have to to get though the day and the book neighbors watch you, confused, wary.

C’mon. There are banalities to attend to.

Obligation is a powerful master. I don’t want to go home, now or ever. My ability, my creativity, is fully situational. I want to keep dreaming. But I will go home and give my love a scone.

<<agé chose>>

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