Trying to confirm the date.  No embellishment, speaking from the truest of TRUE Self.

After divorce, and me… a writer.  Nothing polished, nothing arranged or stages like in a fucking house for sale.  The most Me that I with ink can bleed.

What do I want to be known as… of course, yes.  That writing bloke.  Play with photog, yeah.  A “Sales Professional”, maybe.  But I write.

In this journal, all days.  For my Composition.

I Just DECIDED To STOP… with what?  Worry.  Scared of what?  Nothing.  FEARLESS.

Stopping with certain acknowledgement too, such as those others.  The voices.  The grotesque and foul energies that insist upon an accost.

All me, and the most unfettered form.

Latte done.  SHIT.

Get some coffee to Nurse, downstairs.  Where the Nurse is.  Didn’t mean to capitalize the first ‘nurse’.  But laughing ‘cause I did.

Confirmation on speaking date, good.  Okay, so, about that coffee…

On desk.  Sales content produced… one piece at a time.  Trying a new architecture for today’s production and “drawing board” activity.

Understanding Consumer behavior, tendencies and psychology.  The focus of the day.  One piece of content produced.