continuing the distance. . . . .

when did the studio pour outta the door into downtown wilmington? into the shores and sand-swept sidewalks of Wrightsville. . ? when did the run become the art, the art become the run. . . . . always a physical painter, now I’ve found the physical surmounted the palette, surmounted the brush, found the feet and the beat of the street as arms swing and minds blank into eyes and sounds and a synergized experience of it all. . . . .

beethoven’s late piano sonata, no. 29, performed by r. goode, a most tender and neurotic piece. quietly belligerent.

ran a 15k this weekend, saturday January 23rd. 73 minutes, establishing a pace of 7m41secs. more on that later, or not. the race is run and 9.3 miles felt longer today than 10 miles just five days ago. . . .

when not doing dishes after cooking dinner or taking care of kyote, when not doing my laundry or working, when I have the energy, I run. neither time nor passion permits me the studio experience, the concentration of inspiration working into canvas and focus and that is my life. I have sold much of my soul, a mountain soul, for the beach. I have sold my soul for a server position. I have sold my soul to be a family man. I have sold my soul to America. I would like to have a farm in some hills, near the mountains and near a city, where I can run and chase birds and seasons and meditate and not be mind-broken by the noise of rat-race futility.

I wan the freedom to say “I am not in a good mood today. Don’t fuck with me.”

February 15th. snow valentine and a run with friends.

ran five miles with s and j this weekend. a lovely run, despite the cold wet wind carrying the sun offa snow. yeah it snowed friday night—five- six inches in fact. was pretty and refreshing and s. led the run around ogden park and through a “trail” which was really a partial frozen creek/ construction road and snow blinded each step and made me nervous, but ultimately was exhilarating and I regretted my reluctance. a hard run, with some chest congestion remaining (after two weeks of it now), and the coldest 7 miles ever the day before with the winter storm rolling in like Beethoven, and the good vibe and warm accomplishment sense of things really didn’t hit until I was at work serving valentine couples for eight hours that night. then I was glad to have the experience. but upon leaving s. and j. I felt a deep, odd depression and even declared myself a solitary runner for a while. they are so much faster than me and just throw it into the upper gears that I completely lack the talent of. but that’s that—I am just a slow runner, like a Johnny cash type beat in my run that just keeps going. . . . . never really quickening nor slowing. . . . really—I am just running, a physical impulse, like chewing or sleeping, muscle working and mind pacing along, but just a milling of the legs and heart and blood and footfalls and the music of the mind enmeshed with a passing world.