Posts Tagged With: Art

Alice already

with her workout done, and me slowly rising.  Feel sloppy, slow, non-literary and undisciplined.  IMG_7022Tonight I don’t open wine, I go to bed early and rise even earlier than my wife for another of my early early runs.  Going to have the leftover pasta for carbs, buy some sparkling water on the way home, and off the writer goes..  So envious of her energy, you should see her with that little smile of hers just bouncing around the house.. that will be me tomorrow, tomorrow, and maybe all tomorrows!

My mood, sharp, low, sharklike, looking for any optimism to feed.

But I change my attitude as I have a business to build, this mmc project and all the prospective clients I have already– they need to see my dedication to brand and not just “Stroytelling” but true identity expansion and relevance and having that soaring luxury.. but how do we get there, one of the prospects asked.. and my answer: “We start writing.” And think that was a fine answer because it’s irrational to think anyone could have the panacea prepared– but maybe I should, just with a little research of their brand before the pitch and before any meeting.. fully excavate their tone and mission and purposefulness, with that high-altitude view– oh no the ideas come!  And I’m doing this basically on a ZERO budget.. but I don’t need to pay for my own thoughts.. that’s free overhead.. so clients won’t need to worry about me trying to recover those expenses.. just brainstorming now like I tell my students and I’m loving the freedom.. has to be this cinnamon latte thing I made– 

After work, go buy waters and start the real work for mmc and research the brands targeted.  All I need is between 30-50% of the leads to sign on, and I’m aloft.


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Opened a Merlot



from a potential client, mmc.  And honestly, mmc has been all that’s dominated my cognition and persuasive inner-imagery today and this evening, even what at dinner with Alice at Roberto’s, where the service was oddly slow.  This Merlot, much better than the one I produced in ’12…  I can tell there’s more new French on it, this one as well a ’12, but made by a professional wine-wielder.  This translation having more of that “gothic” grittiness I like in a Bordeaux, and the prose I write should reflect that in that I just want to finish my novel here tonight and not go in tomorrow but just stay home, dive headfirst into the coffee and that cinnamon latte blend and end the noel where it is, in one day, so I can grow mmc.

I need to relax with my visions, my mmc dreams and those of the novel finally finishing.. oh, and making wine this vintage, as I boasted in earlier entires, do I want to do it?  Uh– I don’t think I can, with all I have going on, in, on–  Want more of this Merlot and I will, it’s 4th of July weekend, the time when Americans claim to revel in being a free nation when really they succinctly set themselves to sip wildly, get drunk, and say ‘fuck the rest of the world, this is how you should be doing it!’ Really.. okay.  I never get political on this blog, but I had to follow with that framing of my thinking.  Someone asked me today, “So what are you doing for your 4th?”

“Uh,” I started, “staying home and writing, and opening a nice bottle of wine.” But then I remembered I’m spending my 4th with Mom and Dad, so I added and amended–  “Well, with my parents, I’ll be opening nice wine and having a home-cooked dinner with family, nothing crazy,” I told Kaz, also a prospective mmc client.  I see my office, and me in there planning everything on a board, one animated and enjoyable and engaging for me.. my business and livelihood, what I thought about today while going to Alice to hear M2’s heartbeat…  The consolidation, continuing with confident continuity…..


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MOCK SOMM: Handley Cellars, Anderson Valley, Chardonnay, 2012

IMG_7008And the Handley Chardonnay, more than just a stream of me being proven wrong about the grape, the varietal, that problematic genre in oenology– no, this has its own -scape, and diction, and curvature with its apple-ized code and symmetry from scent to acidity to tactile ebb to its overriding message.  And I get the sense it wants me to survey its entity and scene, how it intends on greeting all my senses and receptors– the bottle, and this last glass, knows I’m writing about it– it uses me as a translator and courier of its thesis, and it says, like Amy Tan, “It’s a luxury being a writer, because all you ever think about is life.” And this bottle and its producer and the Anderson Valley AVA bring life with it to everything it contacts.  I’m smitten, enamored, befuddled, and seized by its synecdoche of notes and plays on my perception.  Yes, it’s Chardonnay, but so many, especially sommeliers, talk about “varietal integrity”.  Well here it is.  What more could a wine chaser demand?  Seriously, this writer wants to know. This is more than Handley at their best, this is the AV producer being what I would note equitable, candid, conversational– speaking through the Chardonnay varietal and showing what it wants us to know about its feel and voice, and tone, octave, beaming character oscillation.

I’m now more open to Chardonnays as you may know but this one teaches me even more than I ever expected to learn about the Burgundian loop-grape.  This is more than just “stylistic”.  It’s honest.  Declarative.  Instructional and comedic in how it appears to mock other Chardonnay attempts and projects.  “This is Chardonnay, real Chardonnay,” I say to myself, here at the kitchen counter, staring at an empty glass.  And I’m not “scoring” it as I don’t have to.  This is just a note denoting and connoting that I respect this wine and the producer and how it makes me envision the Road and what I’ll write about so many tomorrows from now.  Fantasized glass apparition presence–


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Busy, busy

Day.  Indeed.  Worked quite fiercely with mmc ideas, making new contacts and a couple other movements.. now it’s after 5PM.  Don’t think I’m running tonight, nor tomorrow morning.  Rather, I’ll open something else to review– OH!  Have to post the Handley Chard review…  Will do that tonight.  MUST!

IMG_7015Missing little Kerouac, and not so much missing working, or even the classroom.  Love the students and the act of teaching but I’m sure mmc will give me everything I want.  Looking up office designs and layouts for Creative businesses.. want ideas, and I want my office to be the most support office of Creativity anywhere on EARTH!  And I’m not kidding!  Of course I’m not kidding.. why would I be kidding.  Why’d I say that.  Going mad.  But a good mad.  The Kerouac-type mad.. love.

Bought more coffee at the store, more medium roast and a cinnamon latte kind I think I’ve had before.  Whatever.. there’s coffee in it so it’s good, great for my morning writes..

Plan in my head.. not going to write it.  I know it’ll stick so I’ll let it ferment in my thinking.. texted my friend Tanya an idea, see what she says.  A beer sounds lovely right now.  Oh, and I have to be at work tomorrow at 9 for some meeting.  A meeting which I’m sure won’t accomplish much but at least it’ll provide some material for the Massamen novel, and other ideas.. one day my own tasting bar?  A tasting bar/wine shop?  Maybe.. one day.  Back to research…..


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keep road on

And I haven’t touched the novel.  I’m just enjoying my morning and the coffee and writing with ink some poetry some thoughts on my mind and I don’t want to stop and I don’t care how much I am or am not supposed to post.  Do you tell vines what to do?  I guess you do, but they will move as they want, you can’t tell them what to think and you’ll never know what their next move is.  This morning is all music, all café, all art, all ZEN– all ME.  I’m so in love with life this morning, just as Kerouac ordered, to be in love with yr life.  And I am, master!  I am!

8:41, and I’ve made progress this morning, this wouldn’t be if little Kerouac were here, but I’d be more motivated if he were here, just not with as many finished pieces already if that makes sense.. probably makes no sense.. I further consolidate just throwing writings in folders and files on this fucking laptop.  Building something this morning and what I don’t know but I keep going, I won’t let myself stop, not for me not for the next cup, or what’s scheduled, and to be honest the only thing “scheduled” is this, me at the counter writing and thinking about Summer Semester and the organizing I’m doing– novel, write in the novel!

I can’t right now.

Well do it anyway.


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Done Fruitful Danger

And a whole day off for the writer-father, but more to do, have to optimize this day like I have no other and in a minute I’ll dive headfirst into the novel, get at least three more pages into its body then start to bring in the 100 days of 3 pages my character keeps talking about.  And think about I do all the time, the 3, or actually 3+ pages a day I did.. 100 days of it.  Starting when I was still at that place and then into days where i was and am free, and on the brink of doing something amazing, I know.  And everything about the writer will be kept, tidy, easily location’d, and ready to submit, all times and all days and– just thought how this sitting might be read as just another posting from Mike Madigan– “oh there he goes again drinking coffee after a night up late writing to and about some wine, this is just another hey-I’m-up writings…’

Not at all.

The morning, THIS morning promises something for the story directly and something that’s sure to make everything in life more Literary and musical, and I know it’s to take place ‘cause I’m writing it.  I talked to my students last night about a sixth sense as a reader.. and that’s what I’m exercising and sharing now with you–

After a couple quick snuggles from Ms. Alice, I come downstairs while she accrues more rest, and only such can sequence when little Kerouac isn’t here in the home with his parents but in Monterey with his grammy.  I enjoy this quiet but miss my little Artist as well, wondering if he’s still asleep or if he’s up playing with Molly (grammy’s dog) or what he’s observing, what he’s thinking about what his eyes ingest and just everything he’s experiencing and living down there, by the ocean.

Trying to take my time with this coffee, slow, just like the day and how I should approach it.  Not sure how hot it’s to be but we are in summer, and the vines grow quicker than anyone can adequately gather and véraison is already being found, seen, recorded all over both counties.  Can’t wait to have those pictures and witness those clusters get closer to their fruition.  See?…  I’m so envious of vineyards: they always finish their novels, and they’re always published, and most times, at least from the winery I’m working with, is enjoyed universally.

I feel older this morning, this 36 year-old writer.  But I see something not so Nietzsche…  I’m getting more focused and singularized and smarter with my writings and how I market myself (mmc) and I know I’m getting closer to my office, I know I am.. I can see it actually, how my desk will look and where it will situate in relation to a window, and what wines will be on the rack and what coffee will be in the kitchen and–  Ahead of myself yes.  But that’s where Mike Massamen needs to be.


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wine thought 5

IMG_6956Burgundy boy, me, tonight, apparently.  Chard and Pinot, and thinking about my tomorrow, in wine and what wine will tell me, all the pictures I took yesterday and the day before and how I have to write about them and more wine thoughts engulf me, how wine dotes on sippers and then them on it.  I’m just seeing stories about this wine, the two: Chard and Pinot.. we all have a pick, a subject, something we always want to see.  And me, after working days like today from the winery to the classroom, it’s a vocal glass of Anderson Valley Chardonnay–


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That One

6:49 and up with coffee and writing and thoughts of the novel and mmc.. always going, and that’s what this blog shows, and if people get annoyed with my consistency, then I apologize, but I won’t stop as I can’t, at all.  Ever.

Short thoughts from novelized mind and just keeping going and changing the state of affairs for the writer, voracity re-instituted and constituted..just a writer helping people with writing, businesses, and helping himself.

Closer to departure for day, intended to be the most smoldered episode of the week.  Class tonight– oh!  Need my Sedaris book!

1,613 words so far.  Over a thousand to Massamen novel, and a 550+ word letter to a friend.  Into my mocha, and thinking about how hot it will be today and how I want no part of that heat.  Who I have to call and what I need to do to grow mmc.  My perception, becoming encouraged, and with these writing nights I have ahead of me, I’ll dive into the novel like I never have– writing till 1 or 2 or 3.. then sleeping in till 8-something as I’ll have the Autumn Walk base to myself, and live like a writer with more focus that any writer out there.  And that’s what I’ll be and how I want to be see– no, how I AM and how soon everyone will see me: the hardestworking writer in the world.  Always writing.  Writing for himself and his clients and just living by and from and within words.

Very much feel the run, those 7.1-whatever miles I did on the treadmill yesterday afternoon.  The PinotIMG_6984 tasted better last night that the eve prior, and the Chard, that stainless Handley beauty, perfect for a warm evening in Sonoma.. the fantasy becoming MY reality.. have to call a prospective client, my sister’s friend, who owns a lovely little shop in Marin; purses and clothes and accessories of an artisanal tune..  I think businesses are fascinating, how owners shape them vs how they take on a life and mind of their own..  I’ll call her on the drive up to RRV.  And just think about what I could do for her; more of that story that narration, more visual, more showing how people come in and see her spot as a destination within a destination (SF Bay Area, as I’m sure she gets hit with her fair share of tourists..).  That’s right, I remember thinking about her and her shop last night while having that last glass of Pinot in the kitchen.  I’ll finish this sitting and go outside and give her a call.  Hate talking while I drive.  Always so encumbering and annoying and anymore disruptive.  When I’m on River Road, then Wohler, then Westside, I just want to enjoy, relax, observe..

Picture from yesterday, hug cluster of either Chard or Pinot, I’ll admit I don’t know.  Struck me, still strikes the writer, the fruition involved and how the weather it treats.. just a story on top of a story.. intimate and truthful, full of imagining and dreaming of how that cluster will taste once in the glass.  So I still write.


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MOCK SOMM: Handley Cellars, Anderson Valley, Pinot Noir, 2012

IMG_6979Not at all coy with its confident composition– cherry and some plum-esque suggestion coupled with ripe earth and softly-sequenced black spice– but again I find a Pinot far beyond the simplification and convenience of descriptors or some obscure adjectives.  I’m with that Literary shape of Pinot that loves its dance and its beat and the valley it calls home, most notably shown in its finish– chocolate chant and cherubic chime.  Everyone knows I love Pinot and that I follow it and when I find one I love I become childlike.  And now I’m childlike, again, but more than I was with the last Pinot I tilted into my talking, whatever it was…  This glass’ song folds my introspective bend to something which screams for more connectedness to Pinot, but also warns me that most of them aren’t this coherent and convincing.  Cummings said that “Kisses are a better fate than wisdom.” This Pinot kisses over, over, over and places me in reflective maelstrom, spinning till I can only hope to land for another kiss.

Gentle put persistent texture and a terrific turbulence about the concluding curves to the wine’s IMG_6980measures.  And that has to be the winemaker’s love for 2012, and Pinot, and Anderson Valley, and all stories connected to narrative wines like this– I’m bedazzled by how the oxygen just pushes more from the glass, a step-by-step calculation of the wine itself, taking on cognitive actions and orations of its own– this is what makes it obvious, convex and complicated.

You might read this and think, “So Mike just writes about wine and drinks it and drinks more and that makes it easier to write.” At times, maybe, but not with this wine.  It’s codified and inviting; defensive and seductive; sealed lips, but still eager for kiss next.  I’m challenged by this evasive dark dancer, and I follow her.  Wherever.  A coherent contradiction.  And that’s why it lasts and echoes and has the tremolo’d traipse about my IMG_6981Now.  And my fate, better than any sagacity, or kiss– it’s this, this moment, the standalone second about how I scribble and sip, and sip…..  Tomorrow I’ll fall or roll or stumble from the sheets thinking about that color, the darker-than-I-estimated shade of Burgundian beatific syncopation.  I hear and taste the music again, carry it with me through the day, and I thank my favorite AV winery, and know I need to get back up there, someday, when I’m not writing.  All wine writers or critics should write about wines they love to this extremity.  “No you have to be objective,” says some wine mag galoot.  But I don’t care, proud and posted in my partiality.  Corking the bottle, sad as I sit, like that last kiss on a date, only to drive home remembering the meeting over, over…  So I write a letter as soon as I’m home, to Pinot, to Handley, to AV, to anyone who’s had a wine like this.  And hope I hear back.  And if I don’t… then… then……..

I sip, write, imagine the kiss.  Again, again…



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Vineyard Morning Afternoon Morning, either way GORGEOUS!

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