I’m still trying to figure out how to get at what Allen Ginsberg was talking about to me in the movie theater last night. It’s crazy because I felt him talking even before the movie started and then, once it did, it was like a direct talk to me. Couldn’t concentrate when anyone was talking to me today because I didn’t want to turn back from that tale. It was incredible and the sad thing is that – more I talked, less I felt. It has to be that way in many cases I guess. Not sure why. I keep searching though and will find it when I’m ready to find it I assume – but you have to push as well. Such a delicate balance. Trying to figure out the difference between an omen and a distraction. That higher thought in your head is usually correct, but to listen to it in reality is difficult, but when trying to put together something of fiction, well then, it’s something quite different.
Okay. So listen to this. The TV is off and I’ve got enough music on the radio and wine on the table and muted sounds from the streets below. The streets below. Always talking about the streets below. Been so long since I wandered them. They used to be a place of searching of reflection no they are a place below. Underneath. I think that’s why I like the Los Angeles story because it is so in your face and on the streets. How many places offer something like that. Nice to be able to have a little bit of wine and think on these things. It’s rare and I appreciate every moment of it. Exciting.