There is a big part of me that doesn’t want to write today, that wants to shirk my streak and say screw it. Why am I writing? Why don’t I just go along with my day like normal people and pitch writing aside? Why do I feel compelled to sit here and watch the word count mount when other people just go about their business complacently, without rhyme or reason, asleep, lonely, bored, dissatisfied when here it is, 8:45 and I feel like it is 3 in the afternoon already. Is that grouchy? I don’t know, I can’t say, fourth campfire, are we making an impact? Are we getting our products off the ground? Am I giving them what they need so that they can go where they want to go?
Stay grounded. Stay in the space of bringing stuff to form instead of getting lost in the web of idea generation. Bring it. Into. Form.
Going to give the dog a food frisbee. He is so blah blah blah with the barking today.
They have their food frisbees, some sausage. I have my time at the typewriter. In the next hour – movement. Movement, movement. Movement and product development. Movement and product development. Movement and product development, movement and product development. STRETCH and develop. Move and develop, feel the product’s call in your body. Ground your body into the earth.
I don’t know how my work works, but I know it works.
Embellish. Don’t worry about strengths. Modge podge things. Let the flaws speak. Let the flaws speak. Let the flaws speak. What is yesterday’s final line? Something about crying and tears. I could make that into today’s poem. Let me go look.
Salt fills her eyes
as she watches the comic
she spent more than $50 to see
spew expletives and insult
carnage across the stage
no one else was crying
unless their laughter was
so great, the tears flowed
in response.
Her tears flowed, in response,
to the ugliness that festered
the hatred others bought into
the jeers at weaknesses no
one created on purpose
her son filled her mind
and pushed the salt over
her eye lids
she stood up and left
laughter filling her belly
as she heaved into the
toilet, sour, wretched
free
Wow. That wasn’t what I thought
I would write yet I did. Ok. so I wrote today’s poem of the day fairly easily, didn’t I? Yes, I did. I could write yes, I did yes i did yes she did yes he did yes emma did yes samuel did yes siobhan did
I don’t know which American Idol contestant was sent home.
I have weakened.
I have lost my connection
I have forgotten
I have fallen asleep and oddly? I don’t care because there isn’t an Adam Lambert this year. There isn’t anyone who has wooed me vocally or energetically or spiritually or psychically. I need to let go of judgment. I need to step into joy. I need to open and reach out and step into and above and beyond what I might have thought to be true and just know its true. How do I concretize that. How do I match up with that to love it, to honor it, to nurture it, to cradle it to water it to love it to know that I only have two hundred words more but in four minutes, I need to be on my call so I will have to show distractions unless I get much much much much much faster. One of my dogs stinks or just pooped. I can smell it or maybe it is my poem I can smell.
“That isn’t funny!” I argued. Practically jokes are never funny, they just aren’t. They sit and fester at the hearts of those on the receiving end perhaps for years. They sit in the column marked NOT funny, really really really really not funny at all so just f#$^ the bleep up. Stop it start it stop it start it love it grow it nurture it hold it start it start it start it birth it grow it expand it nourish it don’t judge it be open to it steal it store it pack it borrow it give it back receive it hold it love it grow it mighty it might it be grateful for it I am going to reach my goal I am going to reach my goal I am going to reach my goal I am goirng to reeach my goal I am going to reach my goal I am going to reach my goal. I reached my goal. I reached my goal. I reached my goal. I reached my goal I reached my goal I reached my goal I reached my goal, I REACHED MY GOAL!
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