freefall #1

So I spend the morning writing a scene I think isn't too bad so much for just pouring it out and coming back to it later I wrote and rewrote and deleted and inserted and sculpted and shaped it and it gets me thinking of how up and down this whole thing is going to be when some of it is rushed and others it fleshed out and is influenced at all in the book I'm reading at the time? This morning's scene came out staccato style, which is my style, thanks to starting one of the few Bukowski's I've not yet read Women and it's Post Office and Factotum all over again and yet he gets away with it and you can see how he gets novels written in three weeks with that style but you'd be a fool to think that it's easy that's what makes him great that he makes it look easy and some writers make you seethe and boil with jealousy with their descriptive voice or 'to the button' stereotype characterisation but Bukowski writes easy because he does it easy... that's all for now just had to empty out the post-lunch dross out of my head and it's flown from the fingers courtesy of a coffee which was courtesy of Mr Cow who doesn't moo when it's ready instead the froth comes out the top and you have to take it off the stove before it splashes over the side and starts clashing with the licking flames and now it's 3pm Friday afternoon and I need to get another hour out I have Johnny Cash's "American V: A Hundred Highways" on ideal for writing to I never jumped on the Cash bandwagon but now it might be time to I just left it at a moderate volume leaning more to low than high and his voice permeated through me and is a constant while I sit here and let it out the weekend's nigh and I don't have that shaky Friday afternoon feeling anymore because I don't work in the office anymore that shaky feeling that means you'll be slurring your words by seven and drunk and chain-smoking cigarettes by nine and on some foul sugary bourbon and coke just as the witching hour comes around and then Saturday's gone and infancy is left behind and thirty is looming and you wake up with ochre-coloured sagging skin around your eyes and the ashtray is overflowing with cigarette butts and you have to step outside for air that's all in the past or is it

I asked if you were lonely
you said it didn't matter
these are old emotions
we need to bury them and leave them
Move on to something new
We need to bury them and leave them
But I can't leave even you
So if it's making everybody happy
Writing songs about shit
Well I know i'm not supposed to be serious about it,
but I'm serious about it
But I don't wanna fight no battle
And I don't want to feel love a first time
But if the stuff comes better when I'm on my own
Then I'll make it so I'm on my own
- Glenn Richards / Augie March "Rich Girl"