Writing, writing away, and unaware of the time. You know how it gets you, it’s like Duke Ellington said – about it being close to midnight, and you really should go to bed, but there’s that keyboard over there. What harm in playing around a bit? And you start to play and look up – and it’s 3AM. Well, he said something like that.

Thunderstorms threatening. Until I noticed that, I was happy in my LCD universe. Now problems arise. Thunderstorms. Rain. No Umbrella. DinnerDrinks in Manhattan. Earlier in the day I helped a nice woman from Jamaica (Trinidad maybe?) figure out that her professor would not be around because it’s a Catholic holiday. They only schedule those, I assure her, when the University owes me money for some debate trip or conference. She explains, “Oh, you can’t be up here on a holiday! There’s a big, bright world out there!”  “Not any world I want any part of,” I reply. She widens her eyes and steps back, saying something about the wonders of books, to which I agree with a slight nod.

Writing, write. Time for a break, Cup of coffee and blog update. Who takes a break from writing with more writing? How is this a break? If there was a mad scientist who specialized in developing systems that generate madness, he would take one look at mine and his eyes would dilate. His breath would quicken, his lips would slightly part. And if you were close enough, you could hear faintly on his breath, “genius.”

The end of the summer – a sort of desert season for me in a lot of ways – always corresponds in creepy/beautiful ways with the start. In May, I was writing a lot, probably too much to be honest, spinning my wheels, typing words simply for the pleasure of producing them, filling space. These past couple of days, the same (with the exception of a 7 episode ST: Voyager binge). It’s been rainy and overcast, and cooler than it should be, like when a sweater gets wet. Same in May – I thought it might never become warmer. Friends come to visit, friends want to chill, and it was the same in May. In June and July, things were quite desertish. Not in a dead way, because only a fool believes a desert to be dead. Go read some Joseph Wood Krutch. It’s fine, I’ll wait. OK. He’s a little weird yea? But endearing? Yea? I think so too.

Well the break is over. Time to get back to it, after all it should only be about 2, but the time really flies when you are diddling away over the keyboard.