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Morning with coffee and computer, awaiting to begin work on my book Beyond the Beatles, and some time at the gym, I have been running my personal website for two years now and have not had that much success selling my paintings there, nor have I done all I can do asa a business, including writing blogs here, this being my first blogg here. I've consistently scratched out my own morning pages on my harddrive for years, calling it "consciousness", but it would stay in that closet harddrive, now as my consciousness catches up with 2013, knowing the public is just a click away, why not start putting those entries up, I mean, its not as if I'm going to reread them, if they maintain life other than fueling my consciousness they need another mind and other eyes. I'm not struggling here to be sensible or sound good. Such order may sometimes interfer with creativity, I find, as the inner calculator, the intuitive, the cosmic consciousness, strives to come out to this world but finds the door blocked by the inner editor who declares, "no, you must sound good, like all the good people you admire and enjoy, like what your teachers and parents and lovers told you is good, and if you don;t sound good that way, then edit edit edit until you do." "But", says in the inner voice in other words, "I have something uniquely mine to say, a message from the unconscious to the conscious, first person, that can not be spoken with acceptabe grammar and words in the style of Dickens or King or Hemingway or even Stan Lee, in fact, it hardly makes sense, like a string of syllables muttering through a mud of sensibility in its mouth distorting the true sound." Yet, another's acceptable words do ring, like an acceptable personage who may mediate between the sensible and nonsensible worlds, who may drape a warm coat across the shoulders of the unconscious voice and lead them from that warm frigid mud to the earth and say to the earthlings, "here is a sibling, respect his unique message to self and self," and those acceptable words were cast by Bowie and Eno during the recording of "Low": "every mistake comes from a deeper intention". So with that in mind, I will not edit my bloggs, I will not fix spellings typos or other words, for the string of syllables may speak a messsage my sensible consciousness can not yet grasp, the last syllable of one word matching with the first syllable of the next word to make a hidden word that egoless words may grasp, and a painting may await.