PM, After

Nightcap, Racer 5.  Thinking about a lot tonight.  What I always address, Autonomy, Artistry, Wine (not its industry).  Among much else.  Like Dad says, “If you don’t think for yourself, others will think for you.” All my lectures on Orwell’s 1984, looking back at me, asking me what I want to do, how I want to react.  I’m 32/33.  Time, definitely catching me, if it hasn’t already.  My direction, already chosen.  Everything else, an interim, at best.  Thinking about the short that I wrote today, about Kelly.  See it as my strongest standalone so far this year.  Tomorrow, during Lit Lunch, another short.  Might be a Kelly piece.  Or not.  I’ll decide when I’m there, in my wooden chair, with mocha2.  Need to cut back on the mochas, really.  Maybe just a straight coffee.  But they’re not as erotic to palate, not as imaginatively atmospheric.  I’ll be in the moment with the writing, no matter.  May leave laptop here, on this desk, in the condo.  Bag was too heavy today.  Plus, I want more ink, more actual scribbled sheets.

Thinking of Hemingway’s character–well, his portraiture in the movie the other night.  How strong he was.  How certain in his strut.  He answered to himSelf.  That’s it.  And his Craft.  Made me think about my frenzy, my confidence, or “swag” as I ceaselessly hear overused.  So annoying.  I don’t solicit others counseling me on my conduct, ever.  This is what bottledaux is all about: an uncensored Artistic Bottled OX.  All need be intensified.  Time to be a fighter.  A real one.  This approach, inarguably risky.  But I don’t care.  What do I have to lose at this age?  Would I want my child’s father to be a coward?  No.  I want him a sovereign soldier.  One in control.  Like my father.  Try to steer or puppeteer him.  Fail, prodigiously.  I want my son to look at me with the same evaluative edge of favor.  For an artist of my age, and situation, this is colorfully crucial.  It happens now.  I’m falling asleep Mike Madigan.  Waking Massanello.  From laborer to king, in LESS than a day.  That’s Literary, that’s wine, truly Human.  It’s Common Sense.  Hemingway would approve.  I may leave destroyed, but never defeated.

1/24/12, Tueday