Sep 21 2015

I need a vacation from my vacations.

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That desk is my great-grandfather’s.  My road warrior kit is on the right, the keyboard and monitor are part of my semi-permanent installation.  In road mode it all fits in that little case between the waste basket and desk including the power supplies and cords.  My camera bag with 5 batteries and 4 32 Gb Memory cards is hanging off the leaf with the notepad.  The pen is also a smartphone stylus, Moto E, FM Antenna, 2 x 10 hr Earpieces.

This room is haunted.

Not by Chet or even by my Uncle who lived there longer than I did and eventually died there.  Those are his videos in the book case.

Nope.  I haunt it.

I painted it blue like all my rooms and there’s a wall lamp and a plug next to each window and the door (this house is older than I am and I’m 120+).  At the time I arrived the heating was central monoxide so I set up my base on an old kitchen table where the bookcase is today and used the out of sight radiator that didn’t work anyway as a shelf by laying a plank across it.

This is the view from my window.

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My bed is once again where it was, the only place it really fits.  My wingback chair long lawn trashed, rattan Chesterfields instead.

I spent 3 years there, writing poetry for machines.  I’ve done a bunch of that.  It was after my career in shipping and receiving and before my turn as a pump jocky.

When I left it was business, it always is.  I said I’d be back in a month or two.  I’ve been gone over 30 years and it seems like yesterday.

There is nothing to writing.  All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.

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