Sonic Reducer

Writing while listening to early '80s punk, although jolly good fun, is rather difficult. Convulsions and typing work against each other. Also, don't try this while sucking from a bottomless caraffe of French Roast. Fucking hell if I know how Kerouac did it. I switched to Fats Waller. Master of stride piano, with a left hand possesed by Satan himself. I don't play piano, but my left hand should be hitting A's and E's the letters rather than A's and E's the root notes and fifths. I switched to silence, but that was too...silent. So now at 2:04 PM I'm listening to the great Down Memory Lane on NPR. Meanwhile, I'm typing this rather than working on the novel. Oops.

So where was I again???