Posts Tagged With: Journal

And I did it. 14.1 miles.

Ran right on Summerfield, turned around when I reached end then went to Howarth, where I ran into Annadel till I hit 7, then turn around again.  Stopped at the condo complex across the street, where we often walk with Jackie and see the three ducks and their adversarial goose guardian, or whatever he is, with his vile temper.  In house now, ready to brew coffee but first sip the water.  Need to train harder for the 26.2 in Santa Cruz.  So.. rest all day, 3 miles to run tomorrow, from PC, right after class.  Then five and five for the next two days, I’m thinking.  11:10 the time now, and I’m not stressing one bit about what I want to do today.. in fact, I may go for a drive after this, to the book store, just look around, maybe get a couple things.. not sure, and that’s the beauty of it.  Today, my primary job if you would was to run, something significant, and I did, more than half a marathon.  And while running, because of the pain and exhaustion in both legs, I very much entertained stopping, but I didn’t, saying to myself, just run slower, like writing the Massamen novel; keep writing, and if you have to decrease in pace, do!  Long as it gets done.  Speaking of, I need to get to page 10 today, however it gets done it must get done.  Novel’s due in 19 days!  And this deadline will see my success!  It will be Beaten, defeated, off the slate .. deleted.

Didn’t break much a sweat with this run, nor did I have any meaningful pain in knee right, nor foot left (right at point where leg meets foot, where pain always flashes, sings, alarms me).  Just an overall soreness in both legs, and tiresomeness.  But I thought to myself, as I ran past our condo, “I AM over 13.1, of course it’s gonna hurt.” But, I then reasoned, “what am I to do with 26.2?” Have to run more regularly, have to not only do these big runs once a week.  I have to always be running like I’m always writing.  Sitting on this couch now the pain fades, away like a bird bored with its perch.  And I need my coffee.  Where am I to write today?  Hmm.. maybe… the golf course, as I did the day They let me go?  Or should I go to the winery up the street, Matanzas?  Maybe have a glass of SB and go from there.. and stay grounded in Mr. Massamen’s considerations, of everything.. the adjunct whirl, what I thought much about on my run, and how it’s different for me as a married man with a son and hopefully another sometime soon (son 2 or daughter 1), and about to buy a house, vs. Mr. Mass’; single, apartment, little ties, just in his 30s and frustrated.. which doesn’t diminish or trivialize his story, my remarks, not at all!  I’m just thinking of how they’re different.

I finally sit to the coffee.  Walking to the kitchen, my legs feel just fine.  But I have no time to dwell on my legs and how they feel, and how I feel so spry after 14.1 miles.  No I have a day to live.. so … bookstore, then maybe.. Cellars of Sonoma, just to say hi, see who’s there (but don’t buy wine!).  This tightness with money and the fact I have no budget to self-publish anywhere but this blog has me quite frustrated, that porcupine Mike Madigan with the quills, charing at whatever incenses me.  And I’m wasting the day sitting here on this couch writing.. should be doing so from offsite, enjoying my day– that’s part of ‘Wellness’, right, being content, or happy, or joyful, composed and assured?  Now that I think about it… I think about it.. ‘it’ being the Massamen Novel…..  Yes, and idea.. putting more in this bottle, the ox has to scoot to side.  Oh this idea may be the one, like when I met Alice, like when I found Arista, like when I saw that writing movie in late ’08 that changed everything about the way I write, wrote, WRITE.  To the shower, then Road…

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Keys Coffee Phone

All on the adjunct desk with me.  Woke this morning at 4:03 and couldn’t back into sleep slide.  So I’m here, presently 5:44AM and I only want to write.  Was thinking on the way over “What if I had more than just the two to teach today?” Would I be happier, or more content, or more fulfilled somehow with more teaching load?  Or is now the Time when I seriously decide and decree that I’m only going to write and blog for my checks, or what I put into my account; what I use to pay for Jackie’s school, the COBRA and the mortgage and my cell phone and gas and…..  I can’t now, but that’s where I’m headed.  That’s Wellness for me– to be completely Literarily free.  Have no idea what I’m doing with the 1A this morning, nor the 1B (but I can plan them when back home).  Walked up the stairs thinking about this adjunct life and where it can go and do I even want it to “go” anywhere?  Not so much, but I’ll use it, and I’d rather be in the classroom than anywhere in the wine world, having to pour full-time– and I’m not judging those doing so, I’ve done so.  If you remember the recent estate that after over 2.5 years or hard work and following orders and doing I don’t know how much social media nonsense for free, executed me as they thought I was unhappy, and my sales weren’t what they wanted them to be with their new budget and–  It doesn’t matter.  I’m living past those days but I always reflect on them and still find it hard to believe that I don’t have to go there anymore; I don’t have to sit through another of those nonsensical morning meetings where we go over so much that is repeated, condescending, and obvious.  A truly moronic wheel; the tasting room manager voicing elements I couldn’t care less about, the clownish and floppy wine club manager giving us information that’s about as valuable as spent tire treads, then the hospitality hippos spending the only breaths they can spend to tell us what’s on a schedule we could just as well look at, before they retire to their cozy overheated offices to zone through the internet till 5, or whenever they decide to leave.  So here I am in the adjunct office, planning, and thinking of the day and this coffee, I’m not looking at my phone, and the keys symbolize what I’ll again be doing; flying, freeway, from Santa Rosa to wherever.  Each campus is material and each is a story, and I find comfort knowing that I’m getting from it what I wish, using it for the writing.  I want to better know the pains of and adjunct, why they’re so angry, and why they don’t just leave ‘the profession’.

Uncle Ross, thoughts of his abominable ebbing, keeping from me the sleep I need.  I don’t mind, at all, I just think of him and Dad and the life I have to life, that I have to make for my son and I know that the wine world nor the adjunct world at least immediately will give it to me.  The adjunct life is breathing into me a newly electric Life– now I’m sensible and still quite pugilistic.  Looking at the clock and it’s still not 6.. 5:58, now ‘9’ precisely.  Adjunct.. adjunct…..  A fancy word for part-time, but I won’t get devoured by that, I won’t be one of the ever-grieving part-time instructors.  I’m fighting, I’m journaling, I’m writing, getting the story of what we do and what we do is expected; it’s dismissed as only part of the whole.  My Uncle Ross, starting his own plumbing/contracting business, never having to answer to a higher-up, never having to follow.. he set his own rules, provided for his family, was proud and with reason; I think of him and I think of strength, and I see what his children, my cousins Daniel and Matt, are saying and everything aligns with notions of strength, persistence, and love.  I have to keep moving, I can’t stop with the pages even for a minute, this all tells me, and like I noted yesterday in my notes for the Massamen novel, while at work at the beginning of day, behind counter, I need to build; I need to finish my construction project, the novel, and let it take me away from all this.  Krystal will be in the body of the work but not the focus, I can’t write about winemaking life truthfully and with stark believability like my sister could, but I can garnish the piece with what I know, and infuse Katie’s/Krystal’s character as a means of lamenting and documenting such admiration.

Think I heard the other adjunct enter the other shared office, just on the other side to this wall, left.  Why don’t the full-timers show at this hour?  Why are they lining up to teach 7AM 1A’s like us?  I was talking to another adjunct, the other day, a guy I work with at the winery, also Mike, instructing Math and Stats at Mendo.  He just landed a FT position at a JC in Butte County, but before revealing so he told me about how in meetings the full-timers would always joke about the adjuncts and their grievances and how ‘oh they’ll do it’, and never asked for their input on matters of curriculum, or rubric, or student attrition, or anything.  They, these adjuncts, weren’t in the room to the other ‘they’, those measling full-timers.

Put keys in backpack.  Don’t know, just didn’t want to look at them anymore.  Wrote some more notes for class.. have to update CV for Solano app, forgot to do that the other night, but I had too much wine anyway (night I visited Mom and Dad, the night I wrote soon as I got home, to more wine, but haven’t yet posted those words..).  Mom told me to “forget Mendocino”, and I think she’s right, but I need a story, and if ‘J’, my contact there, a more than empathetic FT-er to an adjunct, hasn’t told me what the story is yet for Summer, or Fall.  And maybe I should answer the email the SSU Dept Chair sent me, applying for their pool.. what could it hurt?  Walking around campus the other day made me think of a lot, roaming around that third floor of Stevenson, then back out to the parking lot, where I used to park when I lived in Colombard, Senior Year.  Wow.. that was ’00/’01.. the Time, nowhere to be found.  Just gone…  I’m seeing something in all this, the remembering and the walk through SSU, being here this morning, the importance of a morning, Uncle Ross, all of it.. Dad.. Mom.. the other night… the wine, me wanting to run today after 1B but more than likely I’ll take a nap but not if I have the momentum I do now…  ‘Forced Avarice’, still 360 pages to edit and that’s the only fucking thing from keeping me from releasing that book!  What, but what.. WHAT?  I’m not tired, I realize.  Not at all.  Not even a bit, a little bit, the littlest of little bitable bits.  No, I’m here and fiery and, as I earlier noted, pugilistic.  And what’s the story about?  That’s what I’ll ask the students this morning of their writing, the 3 pages typed they brought to share and lightly workshop, and just play with in class.

6:18, and I’m sure all adjuncts do this, too: count the minutes left to themselves before class, before they have to work and talk to students that aren’t at all interested, then some that are, but they feel guilty calling on the same bodies every session.  But what else are we to do?  Have to print a role sheet…  Have to find a word for the day, which I think I already have, maybe.. then a quote–  Lights turned off, not enough motion from the writer.  My types don’t count?  “Ugh,” I say with subversive audibility, then sip the coffee, look at phone but only for a sec.  Coffee sip again…..  Seeing more again.  But I have to hold for the time, just put, in place, me, though it’s hard.  Today could be that day I’ve been waiting for, that stupefyingly wondrous day I’ve been hoping for, since the days I was at ‘the box’, with that headset around my temples.  Life.. examined.. logged.. not sure I’m looking for answers.  Not sure what specifically I’m looking for.  I just write.  Maybe something’s looking for me.  Maybe ‘It’ finds me today.

Did my check get deposited, from the winery?  Afraid to look.  This writing has to pay, soon.. more classes, more material…..  Go DEEPER into the adjunct character.  Undercover.. spy.. journalist.. diarist.. novelist.. All.


Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

key Chains and scones

Before order I look

Around see people talking and getting napkins,

Swirling sugar deeper into cup’s voice

I think of high school tests and how I’d look

Around before we were told to


Who’s prepared who’s anxious and

Who just doesn’t care

And what is this but me again being tested

With a day

Another pinch and punch of time

Penalty and reward, direct deposit and

Speak, or whisper, doesn’t matter–

Everyone here yells, or speaks

Like they need to be heard

Lecture the test started is mine

Ready yet,

No so more leaning

Against wall trying not to

Look impatient


Categories: poems, songs | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

First time the adjunct’s had to sit and write, all day.

IMG_5081First accomplishment, if you could it so tag, running over 6.5 miles on tread. Then soonafter playing a bit of basketball. Felt amazing to workout again, feel my character come alive with elevated pulse and just the physicality that gets me closer to the 26.2 readiness. Then, delivering a sandwich to Alice at her school. Then the curious idea materialized on the way back home, before picking up lunch somewhere in our BV enclave; me getting a teaching credential, teaching high school English, preparing students for college composition; using my adjunct experience for prepping the students for what’s ahead; maybe being integral in the college application process; diving further into a more encompassing education; still entertaining the doctorate, feasibly in education, down the Road. Was going to investigate SSU’s program earlier but opted for a nap instead, woke to my alarm, brushed teeth only to have them again stained and coated in an added cup, that ‘breakfast blend’ coffee. Better today than whenever that first cup was. So much in my thoughts tonight after talking with Dad about a house purchase, seeing him so fluid and fluent and fanciful with numbers and budgets, anything organizational. And tomorrow I start, starting with the stash upstairs, and the change I have down here– no spending! No more lunches out! Nor dinners! This writer will be more than merely minimalist! Just the paper, pen, till the money comes from this blog and other associated paginated efforts– so I need not fret about printings… I’ve always wanted that ‘great consolidation’, I thought on the ride back from Alice’s school, and now I have all the reason to perpetuate and promulgate such. All to the blog, put all in the bottle, all of this Ox!
Sipping my cap, the Little Sumpin’.. tried an Oregon Pinot at Mom and Dad’s.. the… can’t remember it’s name.. took a picture of it. And speaking of wine, I’l get to RRV tomorrow after meeting with the two students.. I’m even arranging a lesson plan for the meeting, centralized around re-writing the Kerouac paper. I’m humbled that they’re so ardent in the meeting and the revision process. Should type the lesson plan and print it before bringing J to school..
Getting back into my studies of Poe, and not just for the Grim issue,IMG_5085 more for the exploration of consciousness and his shaping of imagery, and his word choice. His characters and the anonymous narratives only intrigue the reader further, and with the coming Creative Writing dimension to both the 1A and it’s all the more commissioned. My beer done, and I look forward to tomorrow, with the students most obviously, but the wine, the writing, the sights, photography– my last day of this ‘Spring Break’– which reminds me, ran into another adjunct at Whole Foods while picking up a Chardonnay (Monterey AVA, I think..) for Mom and some “Delicious IPA” from Stone for Dad. He was with his daughter and he posed, “Enjoying your break?” I told him I was and that I graded all before break. He said “Smart.” But then I confessed I had a wave about to land as soon as we all got back. We can’t escape it, the grading, as adjuncts or high school teachers or any educational level..
So tomorrow.. wine.. writing.. last day concept.. to make it fun, I do what. Going to let the story tell me. I’ll go to Arista after meeting the publisher for the Skyhawk Paper Mom told me about (meeting at 12 & Mission ‘muffin spot’..). Not sure she’d have much use for my prose, but it’d be nice to meet another writer/SELF-publisher. Hear Jackie whining upstairs. Hope he sleeps well, my little Artist. He has been, of late, but we’ll see. Time to close the day, my chapter append.. tomorrow will change the story just as it has me hemmed for better. (3/18/15)

Categories: artist's notes ..., Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

6:43. Been up well over an hour

since going down so early last night.  No RRV mission today.  Need to stay in.  The cold’s assault diminishes but its element is still enough present to slow me.  And I’m in a bit of a mood– why.  Money.  Stress over money.  Need to sell my writings.. enough of this blogging for free and doing anything for free for that matter.  Was contacted by a winery who passed on working with me, bringing me on board, saying they made a mistake hiring who they did and need someone ASAP.  And I supposed to what.. just jump?  It may pay more, but no way I’m leaving Arista.. and this other spot is just a small TR on 12.  I’d be stuck in that goddamn box.  Yes, I’m surely in a mood.  Alice in the shower and little Kerouac asleep.  Today I’m printing.. secret pages for Self and poems and performance pieces.. need the Road.. write lectures for Tuesday, Thursday.. ugh these symptoms.  Shouldn’t writers be immune to anything ‘common’, including the ‘common cold’?  I’ll write all day today, ALLFUCKINGDAY, till I’m driven mad by my own words and have some vendable manuscript and don’t have to worry about money as I know I’m going to sell what I’m typed, printed.. more aggressive.. more competitiveness from ME.

First coffee, in cup and I’m up.. sinus aches, sniffles, and frustration.. but I can stop it and I will by having my first TRUE lock-in.. only writing and only jazz.. no going out for lunch, find something here.. survive on words, have my renewed plight carry me to reason and Zen, Peace…  Namaste.

oh, I guess PS– the coffee I bought yesterday is not flavorful not helpful (even if Med Roast), will only go out to get better coffee, no SBUX trip.

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Critic Bull, not just “critical”

Coffee ready.  Utterly drained from yesterday.  Was reading an article about a writer/blogger who was murdered, read yesterday on lunch at the little Mexican place across the street from Oakville.  He wrote about religion, from what I gathered, as well as freethinking and Atheism.  I’ll confide I didn’t read the entire article, but enough to be haunted by the idea today, of going from one thing (job) to writing and blogging for a living.  And he was murdered for his beliefs, essentially, and again from what I can remember.  So many tell me to watch what I say and be careful what I write and post to the blog in fears of backlash, or fallout, or making it harder to find some measly job in the wine industry again that would pay spit seeds.  That’s what I’m holding back for?  That’s for what I’m self-muting?  Not anymore, not longer.  Ugh…  I’m 36 nearly, and with a son who thinks highly of me, loves me, but would his opinion be contrasted and reformatted if he were older and saw what I was doing in the wine terrain?  And what am I doing?  What am I hoping to accomplish?  Huh.. ‘accomplish’…  I can’t accomplish a thing, or advance, or be promoted, how?  They make sure that doesn’t happen.  Even my sister who’s a winemaker for a large producer is held back or only allowed to build, or accomplish, so much.  And she’s loved when there’s something highly scored but then when a bottle perhaps isn’t heralded in mainstream or is put on the cover of some drooping wine page-pool (magazine, which is focused on ads not so much or not at all the writing and the actual content, if you could call it that).  And another article, where some critic of Vladimir Putin was murdered, just the other day, and he too had a blog and wrote and started his own movement, if you would.  There are people dying out there for causes not even punctuated on and proximal to their heart but completely comprising their heart.  And these wine industry people think that what they do and what they represent and sell makes the world.  I know, I know there are exceptions, many actually, in fact I met on the other day for coffee (Friday, right?  Yeah Friday..).  This man, also expecting his first child, was kind, gentle, inviting of my thoughts and perspectives on wine and life, and just listened.  He was in no rush and didn’t try to dominate the discussion even though I would have been fine with that as I was sitting there, at the SBUX on Vine St. to listen to him, not give him some lecture and share what I’ve shared here.  So I’m reasonable, I want you knowing.  But I won’t be quiet about what happened to me the 2.5 years on the estate, and with days like yesterday, where I didn’t pour or talk about one wine but rather…  You know what, it’s not important.  Today is new, and I’m excited to be back in the tasting room.  Just know my eyes are open, I’m writing and posting all to this blog, and I’m a writer/professor before anything else, and I want Jackie and my next child to know so, to see so.  Oh.. almost forgot about coffee.

Categories: artist's notes ... | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Shaping Orbit

2/28/15, notes

And I’m typing, I wrote yesterday but I feel like I didn’t write anything, not a thing, not a word, not a character or observation or word.  Yesterday.  But I did, but I did! I keep saying to myself.  Up with Jackie before having to get ready for work, wondering when I’m going to have time to grade these first papers.  With this new tasting room chapter it’s difficult, more than difficult to get the papers marked, read, even a quick skim-through.  Need coffee and you might think “Why hasn’t he poured himself a cup already?” I don’t know, but I’m tired, and with thoughts that things, matters and elements and dilemmas are accumulating, like they did last semester.  But I won’t permit that, somehow, somehow I’ll stop the accumulation before it becomes tidal.  I’ll grade 10 of the 1A submissions tonight, then 10 tomorrow, then 10 more Monday.  My desired, or envisioned practice is the old ‘twenty today and twenty tomorrow’ perspective, but that’s quite tough to pull off–  I just realized how much I love this, this knot, this entanglement over my passion and to-do with the students and what I assign them; I assign the prompt, and they write, they submit, they sit at their respective tables and compose, then press ‘print’, then submit.  Which is far more noble and worth of readership than this blog.  At least that’s what I’m singing to myself now.

Should be running today, this morning rather, when Alice wakes.  Just want 5 miles logged, that’s all, and that’s all I have time for this morning.  What assignments this next week, I think, about how to keep the sessions original, and electric.  The only way for me to teach is, for lack of a better word (again, no coffee yet), theatrically.  Not just in my presentation, but in the ideas themselves.  To show the students that I am the consummate thinker, the “teacher” that lives and breathes the idea; he takes it home; he’s always writing; he knows what he wants and what he wants to do.

At one point in the day yesterday, earlier, right when I bought my mocha from the SBUX down the street, it rained, gently, but not enough to compromise anything, be they thoughts or motions or efforts.  But there was a mood, one subtle but thematic.  It made me think of Mom and Dad in Paris, and if it’s raining there, and how it rained voluminously when we were there in ’09.  The small water ticks also had me wondering when the season will show actual change, shove us all into Spring.  That would motivate new topics, new scribbles, and I don’t have time in this new tasting room to collect a written thought as I did at the last winery (the estate).  So I have to plan more, which is mature but I don’t care much for executing.  But I have to, I don’t want to feel what I did last night, or this morning as soon as I woke, like I wrote nothing, like I’m not a writer, like I’m just floating, and hovering above a blank page, imagining and dreaming, and wishing I were a “real” writer.  I couldn’t let that be the case this morning.  And again, I did write yesterday, and the real most sincere way with ink onto lines, and my Comp Book left with me, to be put back in the car (trunk) more full and more paginated with my day and story of the adjunct–  And I know, the Massamen novel, when am I going to start it, officially, and when am I editing ‘Forced Avarice’?  I know I know, I say to myself, followed with the old promise of “soon.” Famous last words.  It’s always what I do aside from adjuncting that interferes.  Even if I had a load of six classes I wouldn’t struggle this much to pin a few moments for projects.  Why?  ‘Cause I’d have the weekends, Saturday and Sunday consecutively just for my Self, and meditation, and the projects that will define my writing “career”.

The clock, I can’t stop looking at the time, why, I hate those numbers and how they control me and intercede with vivacity.  Shame.  But it’s normal, and certainly a universal address, and time for us as writers, as I shared with both classes (esp 1B), can be both foe and motivating force.  Right now, it’s a bit of both.

Thinking I’ll wake early tomorrow, have no wine tonight and be in bed early, start March with an intense early morning interval, possibly around 7 miles, or 7.5, something around there, like I used to do with Bonnie a while back.  Running makes me a more devoted writer and one with a path outside of teaching, and while running I can’t write which sometimes bothers me and others I feel’s a boon to my journals and to my story collectively.  So I need to run more, significantly more, show everyone around me that I’m a ‘real’ runner, or a serious one anyway.  That I’m focused on my races, I wait for them to arrive at my present day the same way a child waits for their birthday; their day, the whole day is theirs, it’s all about them.  That’s how my race days will feel.  And I’ll be sad when training’s over, as that means the race is here, and will soon be over.  But then I’m excited again, childlike, as there’s another race a month, or a couple months away.

6:39, Alice still asleep.  I look left, through the blinds, and the sun’s not yet in its noted rise but there’s just enough atmosphere color to call it “day”.  Would love to run in this, this light and the metallic air with its cooled shadows and partial comfort (as you have to stay running to remain “comfortable” or not with shiver).

Coffee ready.  Only allowing Self one cup and that’s it.  Want my energy and momentum, all motions, to be natural and not forced.  Tuesday: Meditation, talk about the concept in Hem’s work vs Kerouac’s.. find the meditation, and ask the students why we meditate (find definition and explore, experiment with connotation and denotation)…

Categories: artist's notes ... | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

2/21/15: Awake and already

mindful of time.  Yes I have more than enough clockspace to write what I want and have some bracket of accomplishment or usefulness, or efficiency this morning, but I’m mindful of it, the clock, and I stress a bit, feel the anxiety, have a list going in head of what I need to do as I have to be on H Square early this morning, a bit.  So I had two cups of coffee which contributed to agility and the usefulness aforementioned but I develop a sluggy syndrome in that the worry itself slows me, how postmodern I say to myself.  Then I factor what I need get done for class, Tuesday, and the letter to my friend Ashley I still have yet to write (and I don’t know if her name is spelled ‘Ashley’ or ‘Ashlee’, I’ve spelled it both).  8:42.. quick shower, pack bag, go.  And… go!  Good honest work will save me and get me to where I need be, in my own office.  Upstairs looking for something, in that hell of a hole of a closet of mind again pushes me, tells me to get on it!  Get your office!  Promote the blog more!  And I will, especially on the Square.

Kept the window up, from the Stanford site, about the young female students that landed a grant to go explore Alaska’s old mining territory.  I want such trails and treks, even if at times it’s a trudge.  Everything starts at the Square for me, I now know.. I need to get to the Square!  Shower pack go.  Don’t forget lunch in fridge, and don’t forget what you printed (app for…).  Help Alice by cleaning a bit before I go, more tasks more items more stress.  I love it!  I’ll use it!  I’ll be emboldened by it!  Write from it!  Look at me go, this morning!  Thinking I should leave the laptop here but then I think how wonderful it’d be to type on the corner where the Oakville market is, watch people pass, listen to their conversations, see the spirit of my black coffee climb the nonvisible aircurves, to look down from above the historic structures around me– see?  I’m not even on the Square and it impacts, has its ‘impression’– which is something I noted yesterday while in the tasting room, one of the only notes I rushed, for the PhD sample, and just an independent paper I want to write and topic I want to grow.. the students will benefit from my study, studies, new etymological echoes and throws.  8:49, and why am I still writing I ask myself but no reply and I don’t expect one in the shape, the Literary Condition I’m in, very much marathoning through my sentiments and inner sensibility, seeing pages be printed and me reading them– shit!  The poetry reading!  Have to find one!  Thinking the Redwood Café, but I think that’s Thursday 1 of every month.  Can’t wait that long.. so what then.  Visions and images rushing past me like speeding college students down East Cotati, I slow and day start, now, promise, movement…..

Categories: artist's notes ... | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


Show mic sing no. And
my anxiety flushed in
to a faucet’s stop.


Categories: poems, songs | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Day 82, excerpts (no edits)

…we’d be watching football and enjoying snacks and just hanging out as we did yesterday (told him this yesterday, before leaving for Mom and Dad’s, for dinner, where Mom cooked some beef dish with mushroom and carrots in a crockpot).  Now I hear him talking.. poor Alice, I’m sure she wants to sleep.  I’ll go up there and get him, and when down here with me I’ll write that cover letter for Dominican.. would love to have a class there, make that drive DOWN 101 to Marin, or Kentfield, or San Rafael, wherever it is down there, waiting for me and my words and instruction–  Hear the monster, my little boy making his way, sneaking down the stairs, in the dark, don’t like when he does that I fear he might fall.  “Then why don’t you stop in your project’s current proffer and get him?” I do just that and find him progressing to the condo’s bottom level, step by step, on him bum.  And now he’s eating his waffles, playing with cars atop the toy chest.  And I’m the observant father who tries to write and bring his project to a close and think of what to do next best for his family, bring money in and impress his students and come off as some sort of expert but I know that’s not possible.  And expert?  No.  But energetic, passionate, involved and immediate, present?  Yes, undisputedly–  Jack continues to bring me toys and items he likes to play with and I offer interest but only so much as I can’t help but think about it, this last Wednesday and how Alice is with me going back to being a fulltime adjunct and building my CV and teaching, lecturing, writing.. more coffee this morning and I’ll have the day’s 3 pages by 10, or before.  Alice said she wanted to go into her school, her office and get some work done, I’m only supportive as her passion is never flimsy or sporadic, it’s fiery and Roman and expansive.  I bend in awe, watching her prep and leave early as she does.. soon, this will be me again– well, I do wake at 5-something to ready for the 1A this semester.  But I mean a more viral and daily footing, practice.

Exterior stage, present and visible.  The day’s aloft, in flight.  Noticing a change in my writing habits, how I can’t leave the page and I fear this project’s end.  Most would say, I’m sure, “Aren’t you looking to finishing it, being done?” Or, “100 days?  Of three pages?  Are you crazy?” Well, yes, to the later, and NO to the former-former.  Once it’s done, I have to edit, all 300+ pages.  Yes, loosely, but I do have to read my entire MS.  And what is it?  A memoir?  A journal?  A nonfiction novel?…

I have to edit, all 300+ pages.  Yes, loosely, but I do have to read my entire MS.  And what is it?  A memoir?  A journal?  A nonfiction novel?  The character Mike Massamen will be more direct and shining on page; he’ll take the adjunct dilemma into his hands like other adjuncts don’t, and can’t.  He sees the others on campus and dread becoming like them one day.  He wants to be different, seen as a writer and as a scholar, one more in advocation of reading and literacy than the others; and he’ll never be complacent like the fulltimers, ever, even if he does eventually become one.

Starting a new poem…  for the whoso magazine on blog…..  Perambulating about the page in verse and meter.  Just finished it, I think, don’t want to make it too long.  Think ‘No Why Of’ might be a bit long.  And I can’t edit it, already have it posted–  Tired.  Think I may have whatever’s making Jackie cough as he does.  The father struggles, and he content on couch watching cartoons he requested.  To much in thought bay, so I put down the laptop and meditate, think of nothing, or as close to it as I can.

11:39, Alice at school and Jackie and I hanging out here at house.  Email Dominican contact and filed for UI just to do it, but it’s clear I won’t get anything as I made too much money in Fall ’14 and still make too much now with the 2 sections, SRJC.  Kinda funny to think I make too much money… WEnt for walk with J and Alice up to BV hills, up Woodview, and it reminded me of summer mornings at Steve & Linda’s; coolm slight cloudcover and that wild smell of morning and foliage and plants, guys playing golf (which reminded me of Sunriver, not Stever & Linda’s property).  Walking back down the hill we saw a sizable coyote.  Alice was alarmed but J and I were intrigued.. he yawns now next to me, could be nap time for him soon, forgot what Alice said.  But one thing I remember her saying, yesterday, was that I’m happy again, now that I’m not at the bloody winery again.. I’m reborn in my studies and in my passion, with my students and in my life as a writer..  Should write a letter to Dav today, respond to the one I just received, and follow my idea of Gorgeous American Grim.  Think this may be the most explosive idea I’ve had so far as an instructor, or “scholar”.  And I’m going to become more competitive as a teacher, like I will as a writer–  I can’t believe it!  I’m free!  No more counting the goddamn register and no more morning meetings that accomplish nothing and no more 30minute “lunches”, rushing out of my loft to get back on their foolery clock.

I’ll be back at Acre, later, but I don’t think I’ll have their coffee.  Maybe something else.  Think they have wine, actually, a glass of something white maybe.  Something to relax me and write smoothly and fluidly and with rich melody in every word I put to page.  And I remember the promise I made, to myself and readers and this project: after day 100, I start the novel.  But which one, Krystal or Massamen.  Has to be Massamen…

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Create a free website or blog at The Adventure Journal Theme.


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 4,809 other followers