Up at 7. Send Dylan changes in E to “Keeping the Weekend Free.” Got out before 10, read Kluge on train, listened to the end of the A-Z playlist (as much of it as I had put on my phone), switched to Fats D. Spent an hr. at coffee, reminding myself of the structure of the current intro section and starting to get into next graf. Therapy. Lunch. Went back to same coffee place (B’way/96) from 1:30-4:30, drafted the 3 nec. paragraphs on hip-hop production vis-à-vis songwriting/publishing. Not genius, not bad; anyway, they bridge things to the last “movement” of the section. Got into the first graf of that. Guess I could put this down as a 1000 day. Enough for a while (and I forgot my power cord). Walked down Broadway (since it’s cooling off but still nice, and it won’t be in a week or two) listening to the YMRT episode I’d slept through, stopped in at Westsider books. Bought John M. Ellis, Literature Lost, very much in the death-of-the-humanities genre. Was tempted by Strange Tools, a collection of essays on aesthetics by philosopher of mind Alva Noë, because rather than despite the thesis of an essay on pop (it isn’t, you know, music) pissed me off; I have to look it up to cite disapprovingly. Got a snack at Zabar’s, rode home, listened to most of the first disc of the Fats box. Read Ellis, which is predictably bad, until it put me to sleep. Got up around 9, tried to answer some of Dylan H.’s questions about my (poorly edited) piano score for “Nick Cave,” went out to Starbucks for a little bit to read (Ellis) and jot ideas for my Hudson set list. Did the daybook poem at some point. Home, lights out by midnight.

[The Velvettes, “Ain’t No Place Like Motown,” to Sheri Washington, “Ain’t Talking To You Baby”]