Posts Tagged With: Freewriting

Beauty Brooding

IMG_5691Attestedly, Pinot and I have a flimsy relationship– we bicker, we contest, we ardently altercate. But not tonight.. tonight we dance, thanks to this Russian River producer.. the fruit is not in any angle contrived or forced, or one-columned. I’m being spoken to, in song, in verse, this ’13 is like a convincing cloud of sensory force that I’ve never met; that other Pinots in set would envy and downright deplore for its palate prose. And maybe this would be the glass, my second, spurring the writer, but it’s Truth– this Pinot is its own mandate, a sovereign sewing of empyreal ebullience– wild herbs and field-y tones taunting the caesura of raspberry and maple, slight cedar– but I‘m not approaching the wine that way, with the dumbed cataloguing of notes and ‘descriptors’. This character deserves more, and more, and by ‘more’ I intend a story, and I envisage, some world, or setting, or moment where character like myself and another like-penner perambulate in words and recitals and– some crowd, listening to our words, all prompted by this Burgundy, from Westside Road… Next sip, forcing my diffidence, causing me to reject any and all boxes, and cherish my own chatter. When I find a wine like this, this is what materializes. And Pinot, of all forms, genres. This is no wine review, no silver-tongued sentence sequence, just me writing to wine; evidence irrefutable of the writer tilted and terrifically taunted by a new wine find. And Pinot… Pinot! I don’t want to be one of this new fashionable fold but it looks like I am. But that wasn’t the writer’s desideratum, by any measure. And that’s my understanding of Pinot as a presence: vagary, the espial; ensuing enclosure. But I’m digging too far as I tend to do, this writer-slash-professor.. I should have just sipped and scribbled, jotted some humdrum banality and skipped along with the glass-tilts. But that’s not how we arrange on page, we writers, the word-warpers loving simple syllabics with a bit of sip. And like Kerouac, there was a decision I’ve been meaning to stamp and solidify but it’s been tossed away from my perceptive plain, and pleasurably. And I thank the PInot, this ’13, for getting me to clarity some coherence of paragraph, composition.. wine wine always in a wine, me and my cyclical sentiments… my Beat.
And my glass empty. A lull ebbs in my Personhood. And to do.. what. Nothing. Just stare at this bloody glass as any Beat would. My curves and coursings opaque in any rationale, and so mundane when I re-write, and re-re-write. But this bottle’s solved that. And I’m untroubled. From this Pinot. Why does it confront me from sides blind? It, this contained vivacity light but not so, aims to have its Self heard. And I know you’re asking, “Where? From where? What winery?”
Why does it matter? I’m a writer, find love, a wine, mine, mind molded and resulted. Freed, me.. That’s REAL capsuled composition. So I sip again…..

(4/26/14)

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novel excerpt.. this morning’s session

“Deadlines,” I say to myself, “Deadlines, Mikey.” I watch the people walk into the tasting room, thoughtless, careless and eager. I welcome them, the whole time thinking about how I’m going to use one line ‘Moveable Feast’ for a lecture on Tuesday, one of the last of the semester. “…belongs to me…” But I couldn’t think too much about it, I had to focus on these people waking in and how they looked around, excited and curious, some seemingly intimidated. They, group of 8, approach the bar. I put out four menus, then glasses, ask them if they’ve ever been here before and what we pour.. “Oh, I LOVE Pinot,” one lady says. I tell her she’ll love our bottles, start them with the Chardonnay, watch them sip, and right off the bat one of them asks me how long I’ve worked at the winery. “Not long, actually, just over a month,” I say. Then one of them, an older man asks why so many in the wine industry move around from TR to TR. I tell him I don’t know and I’m “only doing this part-time”, so he doesn’t think I’m caught up in that herd, their indecisive migration. So obviously, I notice, I’m insecure. But I’ll use this to build, build what I want with everything, then the next pour, a Pinot, blend of RRV and Santa Barbara-ish fruit.
“Yeah, that’s what a Pinot should be, definitely,” a young girls says, swirling, looking, sipping, smelling again.
“Yeah, it’s nice,” an older man to her right, more than likely her father says. I can tell he’s not thinking about it too much. And why should he, or anyone, it’s only a couple minutes after 11.
Larry walks around the bar, up to my right side, lean, “I’m gonna go check the back bar, you okay?” he says. I nod, he leaves.
“You guys expecting a busy day?” another man in the group poses. I shrug before being accosted with another question about my work history, as if what did I do wrong in life to be stuck behind a bar, that’s what the question intoned, or how I interpreted… ‘belongs to me, belongs to me…this moment belongs to me and these people belong to the building, the vision, the Newness of this idea I’m Crafting, construction.. I’ll tell people form now on I’m in construction, that’d be funny, and accurate and honest, ‘cause I am. Now.
“We’re gonna go outside and hang by the fountain for a little bit, we’ll be right back,” the calm man says. They follow, and I’m alone. So I build on the word ‘belong’.. “Ownership,” I write, then “control” and “possession”. “The writing that shows this ownership and control exudes an admirable power on page, and ads to its transcendence, the immunity to Time, and an irresistible sense of locale and character….” I watch the group outside, must be a family trip, and yes all are related, I then imagine that the tasting room is mine, or my characters, and how she’d react if she were in here by herself.. she’d love to see her bottles tasted and sold, but people walking through the door alone would gratify her, give her promise and that sense of ‘belonging’.. then I play with the word again, “Belonging,” I write, “as in a sense of calling, purpose, kinship and intimacy.” This empty room belonging to me, I give myself a new deadline, have a beaming thought for Tuesday before they come back in. They look comfortable sitting on that ledge by the water, just watching the upspurt, so I scribble more, I tell myself ‘I will take this thought to class and then on the Road’. I’ll devour this moment, consume it as if it were an appetizer at ‘Billie’s Oeno Go’, the favored wine bar downtown, I think Fourth Street. The glasses, just in front of me, empty, under the counter, who will sip from that one, and that one, I stop scribbling and just look around, like one of them. And I pretend I’m one of them, like I’ve never been to Livermore wine country and like I know nothing about wine, that I don’t think of making my own wine and like–
“That’s beautiful out there,” the man says.
“Yeah, it’s pretty relaxing,” I say, putting my notebook in my back pocket.
“Wine notes?” he says, looking outside noticing that the family’s very much stationed by the water. “They love it out there, oh well, they’ll be in in a minute.”
“You ready for the other Pinot?” I say.
“Yeah.. that one you just poured was great.. I love Pinot.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.. that’s all I order when I go out to dinner.”
I pour the next one, from Monterey, and I think how he has a sense of belonging with Pinot– and yes I know I’m over-thinking this, ‘reaching’, but I want to, and like I tell my students, especially the 1B’s, “that’s when you discover something.”
“This one seems a little richer, is that right?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of rich, definitely more oak,” I offer, hoping I don’t influence his sip.
“Yeah.. yeah.. there’s more oak, definitely,” he says. I write down his words, and think he’s trying to communicate something with me, I don’t know what, but he’s sharing his love of wine and the winery and this moment speaking with me, and he doesn’t care if the others come into the room, in fact he’d probably rather they all stay out there; his wife, the others his age and the 20-somethings. He looks at the glass, and I write something down, “Observation.. can we just observe and not think too hard?” Which many wine people love to do, especially those who want to be seen as experts. “Can you pour me a little more, I think I tasted some cinnamon.”
“Yeah.. I get cinnamon from this one, too,” I say, feeling a belonging to this moment and this dialogue with the man. I pour, benevolently. He smiles, smells, sips.. “Yeah, definitely, cinnamon. I’m gonna go out there and make sure they haven’t drowned, be right back..”
As he walks outside to his family, I rush to the back, ignite the espresso machine, “café au lait,” I think, just like Hem.. I heat the milk, make two shots of espresso– push the door open, they’re still out there, back to my mix.. done.. behind the counter, writing again, noting what I can for Tuesday.

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Seen Speech

vino
Lit

IMG_5609I remember my intentions with wine today– charging ‘good phone’, ready for notes on ’12 Mendo Ridge Pinot, and the vines.. where they are what they’re saying and how I’m to look at them. Last night’s Merlot opening suggested to me that wine today should just be written in dialogue form, no notes, no thick-witted daffy descriptors. No, today me as a novelist and short fiction writer introduces itSelf to wine, and offers to not so much speak for it but translate its visual nudges into line, lines.
My ’12 Merlot, especially the last glass, offered something to a lean of: “I want to be seen as a song, a set on stage, with this light assertiveness…” Last sip was a little over 10 hours ago, so I’m remembering what I can.

Little Kerouac next to me on couch now, ready for school, ready for his day, this FridayIMG_5040 (which isn’t a Friday to me as I’m with my promissory morrow– the frenzying Saturday behind the bar, where people nearly have their iphones stolen (only happened once, and by accident, but the lady’s reaction was pricless, next to that drunk group, she saying to the reacher “Um, excuse me yeah that’s mine, thanks…”). And I’ll note everything, everyone today, in the spoken, the characterized.. characters, characters, in bottle and out. And there’s me, the adjunct, the writer obvious and then not so, not sure which I prefer.

Older photos from the last winery, some inciting me, others keeping me thoughtful, wanting to write that novel, finish it– the Massamen project, where I, or he, will disclose everything, everything about the wine world that people thinking of entering it on an occupational front MUST know. That it’s NOT fantasy. It’s a job, like anything else. BUT, you can make it your own, which now at the elevated age of nearly 36, I have decoded, mapped and staged.

IMG_5607Back from Jackie’s little school cruise down the Yulupa blocks. There was too much in my head in the way of wine and writing and the students, the Massamen novel, the final weeks of the term.. on the drive home, couldn’t concentrate on a thing, solely from the ideas, certain perceptive entertainments accosting me. Nearly ran a red, but here I am with the remainder of cup 2, left. Will try to take a picture every hour today, to capture my day’s moments should I not be able to scribble something, those notes I jot quickly, now more so just singular words and concepts/points for expansion (again, as I tell my students, 1A & B).. and I realize no wine writer’s like me, certainly no ‘wine blogger’, no hyperbolic glossy disingenuous rat of a somm’, that I know. But why take it in that direction.. they do what they do and I with my words and chapters and scattered Beat projects.

That quiet in the condo, that I experience occasionally, kindly confronts me, pushes me into these wine thoughts, the vinoLit approach to everything I sip.. just have to remember today: ‘dialogue’.. speaking, the wine speaking and what the sippers say in their momentary reactiveness. Can’t remember if I have to be at the vineyard at 10 or 1030 on Fridays.. I was given the option, just now, so I elect 10, or as close as I can come to it.. still have to get ready.. clock pushing and pressuring me.. but I don’t cower, I answer with more wording, more wine fantasy, more personification of my Merlot, and how it recited for me, to my ‘palate’ and senses all.. not sipping tonight, leaving rest for morrow’s eve, see how it fends off invading oxygen.. the writer provoking its intrepidity.

order no need stare
at vines and what they write so
i copy scribble

(4/24/15)

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Home and done

with prepping for 1B, for the most part. 1A this morning went quite well and I surprised with, 1, how early I was up, and, 2, how energized I was when I landed in the adjunct office. This morning seemed more still, more motionless than other mornings of the semester. Giving Self 10 minutes to type before getting into the shower.. write write write, I tell myself, and STOP THINKING YOU NEED TO DO SOMETHING ELSE! Yes, my hustle will diversify, but I’m doing what I set out to do, and that’s teach, write, lecture, be one with literature. Wine is fun, and I will write about it as Dad recommended and that’s it! And if I make wine it’s so I can WRITE about it. Same with any wine “business” endeavor I have… Last night I actually thought about getting into advertising.. what the fuck. Yes, me, in a suit, in an office– NOW….. if it’s my agency, and it’s creative, and all stems from the story then fine. But I’m not working for some pig agency in… well, anywhere.
Just finished cup 2 of the day’s coffee cannon, and I’m more than different this morning, and I know precisely why.. 1, I’m not afraid of grading, my procrastination in grading, nor student reaction to my grading. That’s been my handicap for years now, and today it dies. And if I let papers pile or if I put them off, put them here or there on the table, or just let them ferment in my backpack, that disrupts the writing, the writing of lectures and the compilation of confidence before orating that lecture.. And 2. There’s no ‘2’.
Still with a bit over 4 minutes to compose Self, meditate if you will, but I’m ready for a shower, to relax, let my thoughts do whatever they want. So.. then go… and enjoy the peace.. Namaste.

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Record the For

I have every aim to transfer today’s winery and wine notes to this blog, but I’m again tired and just want to write freely.  Finally posted the Pinot promotion, and may have the first case sale, or some sale, yes to friends but I’ll take it.  I don’t want to get too wrapped up in social media and sales, I want to remain grounded in the Art of this wine life and the writing and the stories, and the wine I might make.  Again making wine.. makes me research the stories of these other label, in Dry Creek and RRV, Sonoma Valley and wherever.  I want to be a Story, be read and sipped and in people’s homes, part of their conversation.

Tomorrow, my day off.  First target: gym.  At least a 90 minute workout, running and swimming or running and basketball, haven’t decided– oh, and maybe some weights.  Keep writing, don’t get distracted, Mike… by these social media apps and programs and tricks.. just stay a writer.  And I will.

Today, both Pinots on our main tasting had my attention, especially with the Mendo Ridge project, now showing more coherence and poetic principal, more narrative qualities disclosing whatever it thinks it’s meant to do.  It’s color hasn’t morphed much but the the texture and sensory enigmas had more volume, for some reason.  And I love that I don’t know the ‘reason’.  It assures what I’ve always known true, wine having its own life and vision and cognition.  And that’s why I re-attach myself to these vinoLit principles, and why I do this, this wine run, and I’ve finally settled just days, weeks really, before moving into this new home.. before staring the Story of New Mike.

I stopped typing but I won’t again– burdened by emails and other messages.. this goddamn phone, taking me away from the writing and the notes, the thoughts from the day, why do I let it do that?  I won’t, and stop dwelling I tell myself, think like Jack Kerouac and his days at Sur, when he walked those paths and stared at the ocean from that one spot and wrote his poem.. just keep simple, all simple, and the stories will land.

In Sunriver, I just think, what I’d be doing right now, if I were there alone and just writing and sipping wine and– think I just answered my own question, not much of a question, just the anxiety felt by an adjunct of my age struggling to settle and find settlement, having a family to support and wanting to build, build his Life writing, a career if that’s what you want to call it.  But I don’t think of these pages that way, not like it’s something I punch in and out for, no that would kill the joy of it all, minimizing it to patter– so tomorrow, some tasting, somewhere, possibly up the street to get SB for Mom & Dad (Matanzas Creek).  I may taste a little, or even have a glass by the lavender, write in the comp book (no device– oh, which reminds me I have to xfer that short piece I wrote in class the other day, with the 1A-ers)…

Plans and plans and plans.  Hope I keep one of them.  I deserve that much I think.

(4/19/15)

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The

He finished the glass and thought, thought about what he was supposed to think, of his first vintage, 2012, a Merlot, and what, what was he supposed to think.  He’d start his label, yes, but Merlot.. Merlot, so many hated Merlot and they didn’t even know why, why, who why what.  Merlot.  So he sipped and noticed an added vocal layer.  But maybe it was how much he’d sipped of his own, this bottle, the first, the first from his first vintage, and this was what he was to build, fight uphill, and more than a battle, a cabal to all.  But he was distracted by his thoughts and fascinations, dreams, and paintings internally–

Finished.  So another opened, so he could open possibility’s locket ere long.

(4/17/15)

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(letter to Spr ’15 students)

Dearest Students,

I sit in the nook where I often write and think.. about the final submissions, and what I hope you hope to gain from it, from the process; reading and researching and finally composing…  At this stage, you should be brainstorming, scribbling furiously in the caverns of your Composition books and toying with the possibilities of idea direction.  If you are in fact organizing these thoughts, well done!  Just don’t consume yourself with formal composition just yet!  And this may be difficult to do, restraining your own Self and ideas, especially if they pulsate aggressively, ordering you to sit and type!  But my counsel to you, for our collective record, is to wait.  Let it develop, ferment, and then if it has stayed with you over a couple days, or eve a week or so, then throw yourself to page.

And, with research, be playful with what you search for and how you search for ‘It’.  For example, if you were to do a paper on ‘Morality’, or ‘Wellness’, or even Jack Kerouac, start outside the topic, or “reach” as I’ve said all semester, then work your way backwards.  For example, if I’m going to write a paper on Jack Kerouac, wanting to argue that ‘he was his own genre’, I could start with something connected to him, like travel (as a theme in his work), then research the benefits of travel, or travel logs, then start looking into jazz music and connect the movement of jazz to the movement of travel, then come back to JK and show how in his writings (‘Road’ and some of his poems, maybe some short prose pieces which I can lend you) it makes this ‘genre’ of his.  Something like that, I don’t know…..  I just don’t want you all worrying about this last paper, and there’s no need to!  It’s about you and your ideas and how you mold them.. I want you to assume the role, nearly, of an investigative journalist, a true scholar hellbent on making his/her point known!

And as the semester closes, I’m quite aware, “easier said than done”.  No?  I get it, believe me.  That’s why I urge you to balance everything, schedule, and schedule dimensions of your life in a way that works for you!  You determine what your standard of Wellness is!  And no one can break you from that if you truly have ‘faith’ in your vision (vision of you professionally, personally, academically, or…).  I humbly wish you all to be well, and composed, and successful in these final weeks of the term.  Let us promise each other that we’ll end not only on a “strong” note, but a memorable one, and enriching one, a distinguished one!

Well…  Time to go to work.  Do you ever wish you could just stay home, relax, be it through reading or writing or exercising, or just drinking your coffee (if you drink coffee, or tea like some young scholars I know–) and reading the Times?  Well, not the reality for this teacher, this morning.  Readying for work, and thinking of my students, what else we can teach each other in these concluding pages of our academic calendar.

Contact me if you need anything, be it with ideas, the assignments, the reading, or this letter.

Loyally, Always…..

Mike

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–Awake barely and I think

ready to lecture.  Have to keep with this coffee.  Not sure why I’m so tired this evening.  And I have to run today.  No more excuses.  NONE.  I’ll shoot for 5 miles and that’s it, make sure the knee doesn’t bother me.  Almost completely caught-up with grading, so I have a chance to write these lectures and short fiction pieces..

Made a list of what I truly want from life, and being harshly specific.  Wrote so outside this blog and in the Comp Book..  I have to keep with these lectures, and one idea that jumped into my head yesterday was the concept of finding ‘hurried troubles amusing’, an idea taken from ‘Road’, no surprise.  To be amused in your own rush to get ‘there’, wherever THERE may be.  And how it troubles you, maybe even pains you.  This excerpt addressed how Major found Sal and the gang’s troubles “amusing”, but I feel there’s a bigger statement paginated here, something grand and universal, and something to the tune of being troubled adding to Health– contributing to purpose, whatever vision someone may have for their life.. hence, my LIST.  We should all have a list and be troubled by it.. be burdened, even pained.. and also amused, why not amuse ourselves, and have the people around us be “amused” (which I translate as ‘impressed by’, or even ‘inspired by’)…..

6:43, now I’m alive, now the coffee’s wonderfully contributed to the Mike Madigan here, in front of the screen, and I’m alive, thinking and for the students what ideas ferment what be, what be, what seems.. dream in a dream, of course…..  Now I’m just rambling maybe even ranting but it feels divine.. adjunct taking over his role and position, what can they do to this, to me, to my Now and my NEWNESS.

Home, between classes and I’m more or less prepared for 1B.. then, after class, a run.  Again, only 5 miles.  And yes running is on this new list of mine, more than a couple times.  Sipping my threes hot mocha and just now remembering that just a bit over an hour ago I wrote a standalone piece in 1A, at the end of the session, and the prompt for such a creative speeding was “Madness”.  That’s it.  One word.  And they exploded.  I volcano’d into my written voice.  Hate feeling tired or slow so I have to keep writing, typing.. just keep moving, and this always happens before 1B, then when class is done I’m alive and creatively aloft.  But I’m in adjunct mode now, and being an adjunct or at least a dependent, begging adjunct, for assignments and what trolleth, lies nowhere on this new list.  NOWHERE!  The list is the ME I will be, that I’ve always wanted to gallop as.. nothing hidden, nothing shoved into a drawer.  Publishing and “posting” (ugh, that word..) everything.  Now I wake, like the last words, or word, of the morning freewrite, “Awake.” And that’s it, letting the reader know that I’m moving, that I’m forever in manuscript trance and transit, never settling and never letting some devil order me anywhere nor into anything.

How I would love a nap right now, just thought I’d let you know.  Off to finish prepping for 1B.  And I must run!  I must…  OR, I could go when Alice comes back from spin.. yet another decision for the writer to quench…

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1A Lecture, 4/14/15: “Evolving Characters to Us, the Readers”

word: tincture… A slight trace of something
anti-commodity[something that can be bought or sold..]: What Sedaris is all about…
Wellness, what he accomplishes through his writing, for himself and us…

SHARE: “Al Aaraaf” (POE).. beauty and art and “God”: Death and living through observation of what’s beyond you.. but the emphasis being LIFE! Poe’s character compounds and matures through what he sees, and the fact he writers it all.. in poem form no less!

How is this new author evolving, or changing, or complicating for you as the one traveling through his pages? In these last few days I personally have had tremendous time to think about life and what we’re doing in it and.. I’m not as humor-prose and paginating as Sedaris, but I do realize that dumbfounding amounts of seriousness help no one, certainly not us as readers, writers, or just as Human Beings. In “Big Boy”, we see Sedaris equating.. well, you know.. to matters in Life, and how we’re all made to feel like.. well…..
And in “Today’s Specials”, we read something that’s just funny.. no grad intent, just straightforward humor that’s meant to get us to take a deeper look into what’s ‘on our plate’, if you would. Why try to dressing things, up when you just could just put it out there? Then, in “Shiner Like A Diamond”, we’re brought back to family.. so I have to ask, what IS his attitude toward family? His.. others’.. and just family in general? And Amy, is anything really wrong with her? I mean, I know what Dad thinks, but in your opinion, what is “wrong” with her, if anything? If she’s content with her life, and it “suits her just fine”, then what’s the problem?
Reading Sedaris after my last few days, re-reading for class this morning, again reminds me how short life is and we shouldn’t deprive ourselves of laughter, of Life, or interactions meaningful. The last words of ‘Like a Diamond’ read “…totally in love, and I feel great.” I ask, offer, entertain: ‘Isn’t that what Life is truly about?‘ Finding what makes you happy, giving you that love and that peace? Actually, she said ‘Finally’ before the above words, like she’d wanted it for so long and now she had it.. so again I have to ask, what is Sedaris’ attitude on Life? And after the week I’ve had, I ask myself, and we should all ask ourselves not as 1A students but as people living, now alive in a life so brief, “WHAT DO WE WANT?” What will make us happy? How do we want to be remembered? What impression do we want to leave? What has Sedaris left for you, so far?
He laments a distinct relationship with his readers, through his topic addresses and his narrative fluidity. But again, so what impact does his development through these pieces, his evolution as a person? Do you see any progress? No? Then ask yourself, ‘what progress have you made as a character?’ [Self-Analysis…]

In you journals, while we’re here, examine and evaluate your evolution, your maturing as a character.. strengths, weaknesses.. wishes and regrets, aims and falls; successes and succumbings. We have to know ourselves before we can invest in other characters… If we’re ever to have true “character”…..

Look up in the sky, or around you, and record what you see.

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Up and I have the needed coffee.

Drive to Belmont.. and while driving to get the coffee and standing in their nonexistent line this morning, I thought.. wine or Literature, wine or Literature–
Then I stopped myself. And I had to. Too late in life for that kind of rigmarole. Both.. both.. wish I could look at a vineyard right now while sipping this, ‘stead of sitting in this cluttered nook. No one ever wrote about moving being enjoyable, to my knowledge. Hear one soloing bird outside, singing in singular, separated notes. Then they stop. And I’m left to think further, about school and my lectures, taking them to the Road.. anti-commodity, an interesting idea for Tuesday’s lecture.. I really let some things yesterday find a home under my skin. But not now, not today, not before I’m to be in the presence of Death– today’s funeral, Time reminds me that it knows, it knows everything we do and when we do it and it, ‘it’, will have the say final but we don’t know when. Wish I could lock myself in a room with words, mine and others’….

Have to print some documents, more, for our loan, organize and further arrange for our new house, this transition– and yes in me a slight tincture of annoyance, or exhaustion.. something, something. So I refocus on Life.. Tuesday’s lecture– and I know I write this all the time but this WILL be the lecture of my career. Just have to make sure I’m not too caffeinated and excessively charged and fiery. Want the students to follow me and walk away with more than they thought they would.. and I’ll lecture alongside the two authors, Baldwin and Sedaris. And now that I think, both are about societal commentary, just in different deconstructive vehicles..

A revisit to Poe.. coming.. and I’ll start with his poem, “Al Aaraaf”. Think I spelled the tag adequately. But either way, his fiddling with imagery and how we targeted beauty in his work, worshiping the concept of Art, rather than Death, the Gothic perpetuation, the “grim”, as people say. And I return to my exploration of that term, what I was to write about for my PhD sample piece…..

Car packed, coffee done, now to Road, up to parents’.. moving, ugh… Thinking of lectures all day, and how to link everything I “teach” to wine, and around other way.

Namaste.

(4/10/15)

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