I have freshly returned from the land of an afternoon nap. Now I am all waked up and walked up to coffee shop, and ignoring the baseball scores, out of sheer spite, also disinterest, and writing this.
Today, while thinking thoughts, I thought about family some, you know, growing up with them, and how I will now, as an adult, put this next book together and not really include them in the various topics enclosed like some bitter son of a bitch who never got over all that. I’m half way there, I guess. I’d rather move on, move further on. And be done with it. Write what others just might be moved by or not expect. We could all use more pleasant surprises in life. But for now, for tonight, for this journal, I’ll ramble on solitaire style, message in a bottle style. Words just fumbling out, football spiraling out of the hand, a beautiful pass. We will provide the football image to replace the world series image. The package arrives to its destination. More experiments with words and reverberations.
It is good to be with friends. Hung out with a bunch last night, playing chess, talking about movies, whatever came to mind.
Misfits, Danzig, Samhain – on the overhead, here at the coffee shop. Imagine, if in India, you’d go by some little shops, one of which was kicking out “Moribund” or “Halloween.” Well, it was strange enough, when I was there, to hear Madonna’s “Like a Virgin.”
The way things are going these days, writing just sort of happens for me on the weekends, at least more so than on weekdays. Work continues to spiral out of fucking control. Dealing with that production manager has turned into a tremendous task, shall we say. My mind has become somewhat traumatized by it all, and I worry that it’s suffering in ways I’m not sharp enough to pinpoint. Is my body also affected? I waver between Buddhist and Samurai perspectives in these dealings. It is very much a battlefield of head games there.
Maybe I’ve been infected with attention deficit. Would meditation repair my focus and loyalty to reality? Perhaps it would, but this would not help the fact that I don’t really like what I do. And that is, basically, put together stationary packages and answer phones. And that’s exactly what they treat me like…
A customer called and asked for a PDF proof while the manager was out, so I sent it right away. I am chastised for this upon her return, for some stupid reason.
I have to remind myself, Hey man, this is stationary…
. . .
Texas is the reason the president’s dead…
Anyway, back to chess. The King, supposably, is the guy who runs the whole show. Once your opponent gets to him, though, the game’s over.
What’s this mean for anarchism in the sense that there is in that family not a king to be found, yet everything is running anyway? Each player has become a king for themselves. They’ve come into their own power.
On the board, you must make your decisions and move ahead, or move backward. Yes, there can be set backs.
In capitalism, so many of us are mere pawns. The pawns are split in two in the spirit of progression.
I keep playing game after game. Something tells me one of these days I’ll win a game. Something tells me some chess experts out there would tell me to keep it up and not worry about theory so much right now. That’s pretty hard for a guy like me, you know, an eccentric genius. Something tells me my analytical mind is gonna start answering questions and developing its own theories for what is what. Which, really, is quite fun and quite natural.