I am sitting at the Cafe Latté, thinking they should put accents over both the Es and not just the one in Latté. Man this keyboard is freaking out on me with Turrets-like spewing of repeat letters that I must back up to delete.
I have been writing and working on my web stuff lately. I tend to take for granted the fact that my livelihood comes entirely from my web sites now, and that the goal of a self-sustaining income stream was to create more time for me to write, compose, play and learn music of other composers, and of course drink myself blind. Writing is hard, I find, but it is the most comfortable place I know. Composing music makes me feel a similar way but that is more a feeling of control with a cock-eyed glance at reputation and legacy.
Most of my writing is bad. My poetry is awful. I am not much bothered by my rotten peotry, as most poetry is ghastly and even worse than mine.
I am overhearing a conversation among a Brazilian, a Korean, and a Greek. They are talking about Mothers Day. The Brazilian man says that in his country it’s called Womans Day, and is March 8. I did not know that. Now the Brazilian man is predicting the fall of North Korea. Now he is gone but on his way out he asked where I got this cool keyboard. To demonstrate how this thing works I should have responded by speaking in words littered with spastic repeated letters. “Ppppppppalllllllllllmmmm, theyyyyyyyyyyy mmmmmmmmmmmakkkkkkkkkke thhhhhhhhhe Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreoo.”
