Workflow prose

Bludgeon me here in my cubicle. Dress me up in your dress code then smash me over the head with a time clock. Bring me to with a shower of coffee, cream and sugar, then sign me up for the company barbecue.

You ask me never to go home. I say yes, I am flexible. I want to not live. When I go, just leave my car happily in the B Lot and bring me a pillow so I can dream forever of your employee handbook and 401(k) manual.



I was watching an interview on YouTube with novelist Paul Auster today. He said he writes longhand when in the early phase of a book then completes the manuscript using a typewriter. I thought this was quite rare and interesting.

I personally compose poetry and prose in my journal using longhand, then I take it to the computer to finish it up.

I’ve always wondered what it would be like to compose on a typewriter. I have a feeling my writing would be considerably less filtered.

The title of this

I thought I would just sit here and have a coffee
I thought I would eavesdrop on a Las Vegas woman who went on about her Yankees hat
I thought I would try not to spend money
I thought I would stick my nose up at a Starbucks cup
I thought the man next to me would have nothing else better to do
I thought I would fall short of solutions
I thought I would be out of things to say
I thought I would just read about owls
I thought I would photograph the clouds
I thought I would think about David Sedaris
I thought I would read Leo Tolstoy quotes
I thought I would just stare into my empty coffee cup

Phrase of the day

It’s not merry Christmas or happy holidays or have a nice Kwanzaa or Hanukkah. It’s:

Unidentified driving object.

Because I see more than my fair share of dicey, ambiguous-looking vehicles on the road here in Las Vegas. Trucks held together with twine & such. Rickety automobiles in danger of collapsing in a cloud of dust & smoke like the occasional hotel-casino implosions here in town.