get up, go, write

I'm supposed to be working. In-between though if I'm not performing some important function of life I should be writing, perhaps at least reading or thinking of what to write about. Enough is enough, there needs to be continual effort now. Shoehorn in time for expression of my creativity. Success demands it and so these notes are being typed up. It is an effort to turn my shambolic existence into one with direction, purpose and a profitable outlet for my lingual description of my world view.

However, these train journeys in between important life functions are brief and consumer electronics are also a distraction to my creative tendencies. Particularly when the latter are malfunctioning and only offer frustration rather than their intended convenience. Yet, as these words demonstrate - I shall not let these tribulations overcome my new found initiative to utilise my talents but use them instead as subject matter.

In short, I have to get things done, distracted by life or otherwise. Despite these honorable intentions the train is stopping and Bukowski never even made it out of the bag. It's the bastards that leave the free tabloids on train seats that I blame and cost cutting far eastern manufacturers.