from a journal

3/6/19

New day. New attitude and practice. Prophetic this morning feels, looking forward to work and new projects. Work, defining us and our sights. What I want… more business, more opportunities, and we CANNOT wait for any. No opportunity should be hoped for, but created. My talk this weekend, about Life over Linearity, but also including work, and how creativity is necessitated by even the idea of work, career advancement and what have.

Forgetting yesterday and its turbulence, in whatever regard. Today, the aim is to WORK. To create. I have about an hour, and some minutes, to situate self into the day, in this quiet and empty house. Wife and babies just leaving and here I am, ready for the day. Writing and thinking freely, anticipating the unanticipated and phantasmagorically measured. Hearing the jazz and it tells me to stop thinking. To write, and put words on pages in storms, in unpredictable fronts. I’m writing abut work, today, and all days. The Bottled Ox is one eager to labor. Something in the hour, this track, in me. Thinking of my first job, at the grocery store in Belmont, and how I was happy to have a job at first but resentful of what I was doing, bagging groceries. I often think how far away from that, from doing that I am. And, truly, it’s all the same. All work we assume is elected. No one makes me be an adjunct. No one forced me to apply. No one forced me to do anything…