Posts Tagged With: Art

Brought

laptop up to Jack’s room to write but no battery.  So now we’re downstairs, and he load ABC pieces in his truck, “Daddy I have to clean my hands.. see?” he says as I type and wait for our cinnamon-raisin bagel, our preferred. The allergies again accost, and I think of how I didn’t touch ‘Avarice’ yesterday, again goddamnit.  360 pages, just sitting there.. “Read on now then,” I can hear a much old Jack suggest, the college Jack who’s already read one of my novels in an English class (well, he read it before class, but he read again formally and “academically” and everyone around him expected him to be the expert..).  I will in a minute.. I need an office.  One of my own.  My own room where I can have quotes and pages and books absolutely LITTER the floor and walls.  I’ll have it be a completely Literary and novelized poetic experimentalist Room.  MINE.

At the winery later and I have to bring Comp Book.  No laptop.  Sit by the water for ten or so minutes, and scribble, this new direction I’m taking both Massamen and Krystal novels.  Combining them!  And changing Massamen’s character a bit to align with my own, having him with wife and child, possibly one on the way, and not a single late 30s.. And Krystal.. just like my sister.. Mike wishes better for her but also himself and sees how there are advantages he has that she can never grip, like true autonomy.. but he doesn’t have her money and money’s always on his mind even though he doesn’t want it to be and he hates the fact of Time and how it ages him but it’s inevitable and he can only combat through this vision of he and his sister somehow working together down the road, somehow.. family, to him, IS the solution to everything, everything.. if they establish their own sovereign wine outfit, then nothing could touch them.  He envisions a small house, no more than 6,000 css.. she’d be the primary winemaker and he’d head advertising, directing and managing and steering the brand’s story.  It could only succeed.  And no wine club, he thought.  Some allocation list, or just ‘buyer’s set’ or something.

“All done!” Jackie says, telling me that everything loaded in his big yellow truck.  Then to dump it out of course, start over.  8:09.. should start my prep for departure.. but I want to play with the little Artist a bit more, who’s seeming more of an architect at the moment the way he stacks things around and on the truck, leaning in close to make sure the measurement is artful and precise..

Analyze the wines today.. all of them, but olfactory only.  No palate.. dissect the scent and “nose” of each wine as far as you can.. give it personality and name and character-type.  Hoping to run tonight as well but who knows, who ever knows with a writer..  another cup now that’s what I need or don’t.  Jack took half the bagel, so hunger with me still.  And the night of writing, tonight, early to bed and time with Ms. Alice and thinking about the semester’s surplus..

(3/27/15)
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oenosowhistle 

the red elevation talk in

some language that’s not language not

linguistic not academic. we just inter

act. thankful.  a new site and

scope if I not try 

fall to here

and weightless in my walk,

again thanks, to the grape’s shape

and slate.

(3/26/15) 

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Time to leave

for Petaluma Campus. Another quick meeting of prompting students to write their stories (3 pages typed by next meeting, Tuesday), and collecting the ‘Hem papers’. Then, run when home. Need more coffee although right now I’m quite happy and functional. But could use a break from the key and from thinking too harshly as I have been since I sat here in the Emeritus conference room or whatever, since 8AM, about. Class doesn’t start for another over-2.5 hours, so I have time to think and collect and think about my ‘Wellness’. My new friend Phoebe’s topic and consistency and encompassing fervor with health has me thinking about my Life, and how Jack’s father needs to be as healthy as he can.. to be around and involved in everything. Tomorrow night, I’m thinking, for dinner I’ll make healthy quesadillas at home– onions, carrots, mushrooms inside.. and don’t sauté the ‘shrooms, not at all, just cook them and have them soak what they can from the cheese and be shriveled and soft as you like. Find some healthier chips to have on side; unsalted and, if you can, gluten-free.. Think I see a new Me approaching.. thanks my new friend, Phoebe…..

In the shared or “open” office, Petaluma. Went outside of character andIMG_5174 habit, any pattern, when I took the East Washington exit to downtown, left on the Blvd, then to Kentucky. I parked and went to the SBUX around the block (on Blvd), then went to the riverfront where I injected a couple more little pages of notes for Krystal, my character.. and new focus (Massamen novel on hold, indefinitely). No, it won’t be narrative, my story for her, but in present tense and from a 3rd person chant that conveys intimacy more so than obvious trite voice-over information.
Coffee done, now, and I count down till class.. no prep needed for 1B. IMG_5175Just going to tell them to write, hand in their papers and enjoy the weather.. find whatever push or ‘inspiration’ they need. Gorgeous outside.. in fact, it became too hot in the sun by the river, on that first bench, forcing me to move to another by the Blvd, completely sheltered by calm Petaluma-old-building/historic-edifice shade. Been some time, years I’m sure, since I walked around down there, with those buildings above me and the river and those bridges, the retired tracks–
Took only a couple pictures while there. Now I revisit a poem I wrote yesterday in the TR and forgot about, nearly, till I came across it just now about to upload the stills I shot by the river. And the day’s only starting.. 10:47AM. I have to run when back home, have to! Just five miles, then stop. No 6.2! Don’t even think about it, I tell myself. I look at my backpack, how heavy it gets when papers are submitted– the Krystal novel.. how to proceed with it.. just little blurbs at a time.. take inventory tomorrow night, on retreat.. don’t get distracted. And there they are, the Self-reminders from the grumbling writer. My Beat disrupted and renewed how can that be I have no idea this must be the caffeine speaking, so I finally take a minute to breathe…
Can’t wait to cook for myself tomorrow night, and open some new wine, meet some new character.. Syrah, have to find a Syrah.. go to Whole Foods on block, or down Yulupa rather, and be selective. Don’t set a budget.. in fact, aim high with price, treat yourself. Yes, this must be the caffeine talking.

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Not as

much sleep as I would have like but there you go, and here I am in the adjunct office at 6:13, sitting for my sitting with coffee and yesterday, thinking of how resplendent it was around the property and how every color was accented in its own way. Not too busy so I did have a chance to react and write a bit, about the winemaking character, Krystal, and other notes of note– But now I prep for the day and the adjunct realizes there’s not that much to do..just some small prep for a writing prompt, the Creative Writing piece they’re to do by next Thursday, and hand in the Hemingway papers and then adjourn. I figure why not.. it’s the first week back from break and I hit them all pretty hard last class with information and prompts and directions, so today’s my treat. I’ll hang around for anyone that wants to meet and dissect the semester’s remainder or just talk about what’s ahead– oh! And the poetry reading/open mic at Redwood tonight.. almost forgot. Should I postpone or stay on path laid? Latter.. definitely latter.
Didn’t write a thing last night and I hate when I do that, just enjoy my night and not write, I always think of what I could have written and what would be on page but I can’t punish myself and I can’t think in past terms and tenses– just keep with the story, I tell myself, and I find now that more and more wine’s finding its way back into the constructs of my compositions. And the blog.. a blog.. bottledaux, with more wine fiction and pieces but then I think I don’t want it drowned or redundant.. just that my character involves wine, the story includes wine but does not in any way depend on it. In fact, many times I wish I could expel it altogether while still at the same time extolling it. Possible? I don’t know, but I’ll keep writing.
Set timer for 30 min, have 23-something left. So no real rush needed. Terribly quiet here in Emeritus, in this office, hear a hum above me. The lights. No heater on this A.M. And I don’t think it’s needed, and I’m glad it’s not on actually as there’s a chance I might fall asleep if it were with its usual hallow metallic hum. Coffee, I think.. more! Sip and force myself into some posture some readiness for day. Tomorrow night, night 1 of my newest writing retreat: dinner and wine and write about it into unfair hours, hours that are cruel on my consciousness and concentration. I’ll have coffee standing by. And a new restaurant.. to try.. maybe. But then part of me just wants to get snacks or something at the grocery, as there’s next to nothing in the house, no one’s fault. And maybe that’s what I need, some meal from a house I haven’t tried. Be a foodie for once, and “blog” about it. And have a nice bottle in cue (may have to get one as nothing at home is really what I’d call “new”). And the Newness is just what I call for, just what the pages demand as they always have.
When I left, Alice and Jack were still deep still into their respective sleeps. I didn’t watch them long or lightly rub Ms. Alice’s leg too forcefully as to not bother either, especially little Kerouac who had trouble last night with yet another cough. Must be allergies, I thought, as he didn’t have a fever or any other noticeable symptoms. I went back downstairs to attire then out the door, to coffee, back to car, listen to NPR, Farmers to 12 to 101 to College to Mendocino to right here where I sit, struggling to sit up straight. Tuesday, managed to run 7 miles on tread after the long day I had, waking at 4:58. Today, I’m thinking only a short run around BV, or maybe not if I’m to do the poetry gathering at Redwood– I’m a mess this morning, even with this coffee trying its damnedest to wake the writer. I wish I were in bed, still, still sleeping, still with the pillows convivially encircling my scalp. 14 minutes left in my timer, what to do what to write what to be this early morning. At least I made it to the keys. I HAVE A SOLUTION! I’ll have the open mic be virtual, on the teaching blog! Yes! I’ll compose a post right after 1A meeting and wait for the pieces to precipitate! That way I can get in my run so I don’t have to tomorrow night, I can just fly home from winery, or to the new restaurant I select, whichever it’ll be– Then the heater comes on, and I automatically think of sleep, what I’d be thinking of in sleep, the singularity and serenity to personal dormancy. Books.. characters.. wine… all tomorrow night. With some bottle, what, Cab? Pinot? Merlot (one of my 12’s that I made?)? All questions. And yes I’m very much overthinking, but that’s all I do and can do is be somewhat manic in this hour (6:32AM). Just writing that hurts, but I know what’s building my character and getting me closer to the Road, like the writer I met yesterday at winery on some writing retreat, sponsored by her publisher, I think, and or one of the wineries (Inman I believe). She told me her MS is due in November, as we sat and talked in the inlet, the table by the brook, surrounded by rocks. She too has a blog, more centered around recipes and food, but she told me her book is about the concept of wellness, and civilly beneficial balance with enjoyment, or “hedonism” as she put. Either way it was nice to have another writer with me on wine’s parcel and I could only think of what I should be doing to get on the Road, what shift in my character habit I can catalyze and forcefully initiate to get ‘There’ quicker. And I always come back to Newness, acting out of any pattern, and today’s prime in such exemplary envisage. Meet with students, talk briefly about writing their stories, again due week from aujourd’hui. Quelle merveille! Un plan! And all for the story and for the book. Didn’t get a chance to read a single goddamn page of my book yesterday, so the 360 pages sit in the thorax of this laptop devil, waiting for me and laughing at my inconsistencies. They won’t be neglected, I order myself with the heater still going and my coffee cup losing its smolder…
Less than 3 minutes. Should look at notes and read Self for the meta-meeting I’m about to hold with the 1A-ers. Over a thousand, already, and feeling like I didn’t write a thing. Hate that. Wonder who has this office after me. Which adjunct. Have I met them? More than likely no. And who cares. They don’t. They don’t know me. None of us know each other in the adjunct pot, or ditch, or hole. And under a minute– concluding. Thinking. I’ll write Dav a letter.. or Amber.. or this new writer friend.. or Lila.. or Mom.. or Alice.. just keep communication and with the characters closest.

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0924

Laundry, hate, you I 

Always to do always to

move– bottomless sour–

(3/25/15)

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Edit Log…..

Okay.. started officially editing ‘Avarice’. A teacher looked into the window, large glass piece in center of door, to see if her student could use this room for taking a test, I told her “sorry”. See? That’s what I mean.. we adjuncts just juggle. I’m not mad at her, but I would be or will be if she’s FT. Hungry, and in a mood, too much of one to finish with Day 1 of the book. Force myself.. force it! — There. Done with Day 1. Only 357 pages of reading left.. ugh. But it’s my writing.. my book, and I have to do it! So do it, writer! Wonder what kind of breakfast they have here on this campus.. eggs.. oh please! French toast? Maybe .. or maybe some breakfast burrito with everything. Don’t care. I’m hungry, the hungry adjunct at present.. but where would I eat it? Need quiet.. need peace and distance from others.. so where.. where? In my car? Parking lot? Or back up here in this adjunct area? See.. if I had my own office this wouldn’t be an issue..
A run today, will be hard with how tired I am. My wife informed she’s already logged over 5. Good for her. She deserves the break, the time off, that’s for sure, which isn’t really time off as she watches little Kerouac all day..
When done editing ‘Avarice’, just publish it online.. solicit buyers, sell it however you can! The goal here, with me, for my Life, is to live from the characters paginated, the scribbled and or typed efforts. Simplicity in Creative conductivity–

Had breakfast burrito, at large table here in adjunct area, or faculty area. I don’t know whose this is. Not as good as Kenwood’s. Dr. Pepper, as well. 11:01.. more than ready for 1B. I may be too planned, actually. But with events wherever, I’m through Day 2 in Avarice. On page 7, officially. So.. 353 to go. Want it done in 20 days, including today. That’s 18 pages a day, to be read, of my own writing. More than doable. DONE. It’s interesting, though, I must say, reading the book so far and seeing how angry the Kenwood estate made me; it drove me to the unhealthy and the not-at-all-enviable version of MAD. That will never happen again. I’m surprised I survived Fall semester, to be honest. But I did and here I am much stronger and focused than I’ve ever been before, and working with a winery that understands not only who I am but WHAT I am. A writer.. reader.. and I guess teacher, or professor or whatever.
18% left on laptop. Need to do a practice run of 1B, although I’m quite sure I don’t need to. Restless.. just waiting for class.. looking at the clock.. need to wash hands.. some odd sticky stuff on right. Oh.. and 20 day from now would be….. April 12th, since I’m counting today. Good. Straight on that, now.

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In the early hour, day I

come back to campus, two thoughts: 1, of a girl’s article I read online about her not being able to afford some page project, so she had to stop it, I thought “Money should never be able to do that to writers or writing, ever! 2, the earliest of hours at which I wake, always different, each day, and how today is most special with my energy and I haven’t even had the first sip from this dinosauric cup. Oh, and 3 was I woke precisely at 4:58. Alarm set for 5:20 but I thought “Fuck it just wake up.” I’ll come back to this office after the 1A.. reading the John Updike article, or interview from the Paris Review, something I’m to show students.
First sip, and I’m off. 6:20-something left to write, minutes and envious seconds. Thought it’d be beneficial to start with a timed sitting, something truly rushed and with time around it like a jazz track– as a writer this is helpful.. you know how long the track’s to last and how much time you have to breathe vs. play. Need a word of the day for students, something to twist their minds and make them think like they haven’t all semester. Dickinson.. some Poe….. Hear someone enter the building. Could be the cleaning guys or the other adjunct with the shared office on the other side of this wall, left. Yes, it has to be as I hear commotion and some unraveling of items, possibly a bag and books and other whatevers he has with him. Now I hear him blow his nose, I’m not alone in this building and I couldn’t care less. I’m on a certain I wouldn’t say mission today just know that I’m intent, intent to get to the Road, to travel and see whatever there is for this writer to see.. but I don’t want to be gone too long, away from Alice and Jack and any baby on his/her way.. no, all has to be balanced there’s just certain things I’m now seeing. And another thing I’m “seeing” is that ‘Forced Avarice’ has to be edited.. no more of this bullshit stall of mine, that I’ve always been doing, that I always find some pretty way to rationalize.
Less that two minutes and I have no time to proof as I go.. time to push into professor mode.. and first thing, roll sheet, call on all of them. Then, the quotes, then words, it’s all about the words.. then.. this Hemingway paper.. talk to them about audience, or remind them.
30 seconds.. then, writing.. just writing.. Creative Writing for these matriculants in their 10th week, I believe.. wow, went fast, I know they’re all thinking. NO. 11TH WEEK!

6:38.. posted lecture to teaching blog and I think I’m ready.. hell, I better be at this point. I have about 12 minutes to write freely. And now that I can I haven’t much to say..
Still need a class, another one rather, for Summer. And of course more for Fall but what if I’m on the Road by then, with these words and all in my writing Life is of the idyllic equanimous nature that I’ve always wished? Still though.. I think. And I write. And I sit here with coffee. This coffee. What do I do with it other than praise it? Kill it of course, sipping… And I find we’re in the 11th week.. 11! Of 19 total counting finals.. again, if there’s no calculation error from me.
6:42.. should go to room, get ready, set up, note any last minute ideas or directions for day.. what Updike said in his interview about teaching, it being a ‘customary alternative’ to writing, a career in writing or whatever still pokes at me. Why can’t we do both, as writers? This is my topic, my character and my story, part of my subject.. interesting, I think and say to myself, that I’m interested in what I was over a decade ago; literature, the journal, stories, poetry, what is written in my pages for whomever to read even if the whomever is me and so what if it is, what if I like my work? Is that wrong?
My reading and writing, forever maddened!

After 1A, the class that I always enjoy, and the adjunct is drained.. enough time to look at some Literature I brought and read and “analyze”, expand upon my plan for 1B–thought about going home but I can’t I have things to write and ideas to trap before they fly away. 1B, only 1 hour 2 minutes.. so what do I add? How about a quote from Plath’s journal? She talks about painters in the first page of entries, after a poem by Louis Macneice.. and I think of Art, and the impression these painters have left on the world– Michelangelo, Picasso..– Students should ask themselves when writing something creative: “What do I want readers to think of me?” And not from a point of vanity or insecurity, but just asking the question, the perception..
And now I feel tired, not committed or something, to the day and the class that’s over three hours from now. Maybe I should go home.. maybe I should take a break. Or maybe I need more coffee.

Ms. Plath talks about people and how she loves them like stamp collectors and their gatherings of stamps. Am I the same way? Or do I detest people a little more the older I get– the other day, in the Safeway parking lot, a woman pushing her child in a stroller and looking into trash cans for recyclables, the toddler looking back and up at her mother doing so. I felt sad and embarrassed for her, then fiery and furious toward her. “How could she let it go that far?” This is unfair I know, but that’s what I felt at the time and I understand it said and still says something quite strong about me as a character and writer and character– two full-timers have a discussion in front of me in this conference room. They talk about tennis, and how the TV does it no justice, “You have no appreciation for how fast it is,” one of them says. He then concedes “I haven’t played in years.” I’ve never had an interest in tennis and I don’t know why I’m listening to this as I am but I am. Nearly 9.. think I should leave soon. Go down to the library and look through someone, some author and his works. Now I think of what Updike said in his interview. I should be free already, much as I write. The full-time post is still a wish, a dream, and I can’t afford that– the wishing and dreaming– at this point in my Life. Especially with the prospect of buying a home… so… I think more. What do I do next? How do I want to be seen and read? What do I want Jackie to see when I come home from a day’s push, some strained and committed effort? A writer or community college English teacher? No. I can hear him saying it now to his friends, or his teacher, in Kindergarten or something: “My Dad’s a writer.”
The adjunct knows he’s thinking too much but he has no choice. The role involves panic, that should be in the job description he thinks. He focuses on the table at which he sits and how much he has to do before the semester finishes. He has to get through the Baldwin collection of essays and writings– “UGH” he thinks, “Does it ever fucking stop?” He plans as much as he can but there’s always something, always something else, always an addition to that ‘else’. And why. A full-timer comes in, gives him a hug, tells him she went to Cuba over Spring Break, then leaves. He wanted to hear more about the travel, have some vicarious turn or lovely taunt. But no she’s gone, Anne-Marie, the one who used to be an adjunct, always says hi to him and always expresses affection and kindness, and curiosity as to how his classes go. And now, he had to go.

Reread everything I wrote. Edited. Then I think of my contempt for the institution and academia, or some facets of it, how the full-timers talk to us and each other, then I think ‘to hell with editing’.. you can’t edit in jazz and I won’t here! Or if I do it will be minimal.

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After wine and meditation,

I’m ready for morrow. Books on table, bag packed and seeing only fruition for classes.. I’ll have to do a little planning in morning, but only a little.. revisiting Poe’s Philosophy of Composition, some of his ideas. And I’ll refer students to the idea of Composition, something being ‘composed’, showing and exhibiting and demonstrating ‘composure’.. defining both. Honestly, as I sit here in the nook, looking at the flowers Jen sent Alice a week or so ago, I hope I wake early; I hope and I can’t sleep; I hope this excitement for tomorrow’s classes stays with me and haunts me– I’ll address every student in each class at least once; students that escape my calls and don’t offer their hand or ideas will be summoned for voice.
I’ll run tomorrow, but only 5 miles, the Big Daddy run around the BV neighborhood. And that’s it. No 6.2 that I usually do!– Just found a line in Poe’s ‘Composition’ that’s just what I need for tomorrow’s momentum. Oh I can’t wait! Don’t let me sleep, Craft. Keep me up. Let me be tormented by the ideas.

Add words to tomorrow’s lecture: 1, “design”; 2, “excite”; 3, “sitting”.. as in “the limits of a single sitting”… 5 minutes, 9 hours till show. I’m ready! Ideas, thoughts.. know who I’m calling on first already, to show her/him that they need to be heard; their voice matters, otherwise they’re just dreaming, and muted!

Almost 10, and I think of the coffee.. the parking lot at SRJC, right where I park by that light and walk up the slight ramp then up the stairs then opening the door with my key (one of the few privileges I have as an adjunct instructor), then sitting in the adjunct office to write, prepare, sip my large medium roast chalice. I’ll be a different adjunct– this is where IT, the truest ‘IT’, starts. (3/23/15)

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Not sure what Jackie’s deal is,

but he’s defiant and restless, just doing what I tell him not to; throwing to jumping on the couch to.. everything.. throwing the little basketball or football in the house to stuffing too many animal crackers in his mouth. Part of me wants to applaud him and the other scold. I don’t scold, or at least I haven’t yet. Yes I say “Don’t do that!” or “Do you want a timeout?” But he just does it anyway. I don’t want to be harsh and I don’t think I could even if I had that compulsion–
Back up all these writings. Tonight! And keep going.. don’t think.. there’s no thinking in jazz. Well there is it’s just in the moment. And conventional approaches to anything has to be shunned, certainly with writing. He keeps playing with his toys and just does whatever his curiosity tells him to. So much scattered on the ground, and I wouldn’t call it clutter but his things, his ideas, his questions of how to arrange things, these things, and if he puts this set of items over there to look like this how will it truly look? Know that’s what he’s thinking, or something to that shape.
Writing a story tonight. To one of those Nat Geo pictures, whatever one they have on their website.. more stories and more narrative and more curiosity and more motion! Speed! Jazz! In everything I do even if it doesn’t make sense in fact if it doesn’t then I know I’m onto something, something lovely! Something worth reading!
More and more ideas for tomorrow’s classes. Not sure I’ll have time to fit all this in. I’ll do my best. That’s all I can do. Think I’ll think about it tonight over some Sauvignon Blanc..

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journal, 3/23/15

just some thoughts before going back to class tomorrow: lecture alongside authors; write before 7AM section, post to blog; idea at stoplight today, corner of 12 & Mission: put all on blog.. all, All… ALL!! And, pack light! I wouldn’t have left this laptop at Arista yesterday if I wouldn’t have brought it in the first..
Mentally, stay in the classroom.. students and their journals and the last week of term which approaches..
Looking at that house, in Windsor, makes me think of money, and I hate that. Consolidation.. consolidation…
Now with Jackie away and watching him play and thinking of that house and reading an article a minute a go about entrepreneurism and other related topics, I have to keep moving even when I feel slow or think I’m slowing.. I’ll stay at main campus tomorrow for a bit then go to PC. And both lectures will have the students only motivated.. bringing Plath entries and will read from the John Updike Paris Review interview.. the Faulkner one as well.
Jackie’s playing like nothing in the world is wrong and there’s no such thing as a concern. I’ll be the same, as I always say I will but this time actually do so.. driving back from Oliver’s (picking up sandwiches for Alice and I), I thought about jazz, as a concept and principle and study; and behavior pattern, for writing.. the prose I want to put to paper can’t be rehearse and my teaching has to incorporate similar sequencing. I know the conventionals, conventional or ‘orthodox’ instructors, won’t agree. And I hope they don’t! The ultimate aim here is to be away from and not at all dependent upon the machine. For anything. So keep moving, I tell myself, and keep writing and keep with the ideas and novels and random scribbles; and I won’t be too consumed with order as my form or “style” as Vonnegut puts is one of oddity and anti-order, I guess you’d say.
So, tomorrow’s meetings, the 2nd half of the term, to be sure, are to do it. To get There. And to see the Road, for work, my work, which is words, the stories; the tale of the adjunct taking what’s his and doing what he wants, being the adjunct he wants to be and not what’s rumored or what They expect or mandate in some ridiculous course outline.

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