RIVER CITY

This is on, sitting at Burbank WF.

I think I am made to walk around. I am made to walk down the street with two big bags and nothing to do but write and survive. This is why I like to sit at cafes, as in, it is for the same reason. And it is supposed to be a little pointless, that’s where the point, is.

Today I got off work, biked home, on the bus in 18 minutes to another cafe (need new cafe job). Then I walked down the street where I sit at a table and eat vegetables and chicken from a box at a table then I feel good and walk to a cafe.

I think part of it is: it takes a lot for me to feel safe in a place. I normally feel safer in a not-place; un-place, placeless space. Not to say there are no places where I feel safe (reveille on waller; Fawnskin, California, anywhere within one mile of Brad). It is in these placeless spaces where I can wind down, where I can feel myself again, where I can “relax”. I’ve never been one to stay at home. There is a finite, countable: on one hand with three digits, number of times to where I’ve felt “at home”.

Is it economically responsible for me to stay at home and take-advantage-be-grateful for the place I have, yes. Do I feel good, no. And what is life for but feeling good.

I do better that way, work well that way: when I’m always moving. Idle hands are the devil’s play thing and all that whatever that is (trouble).

There is no movement of me if everything is still around me. It is like a boat floating in a quiet pool of water. There are no ripples or waves. You cannot create something from nothing. And I can make anything from everything. It’s all, or nothing.

It takes a lot to kill my iPhone. And that shit needs to die.

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