After this scribble, typing that stretched verse to which I’ve been contributing over the last few days. This wine’s changing, as it wishes. It doesn’t care what’s expected of it, as a varietal. This is a separatist bottle. Love it. I’m inspired by the profile, what plumes on my palate. Over 1k to project, which WAS day’s goal. Watching a sickening show on BRAVO [not sure it needs, or deserves, capitalization]. Nauseates me, honestly. So whyt am I watching? I’m not really. Just using the noise to fill room. Need another glass, I think to Self, looking through these entries on my phone, from when I was at the box, waiting for A2 in that little off-road patch on Arnold and.. some street. Still hold, not necessarily a grudge, but, a leashed lunge for those sales-seeped swine. I will let it out, all of it, in one of these impending chapbooks, and I WELCOME response. But I don’t want to focus on those hallow, patterned, putrid Napa nitwits. My mind wants to swim in this 2011; its acidic strokes, the tropical tremolo, its chilled nature on this humid hour late.
I’ll get criticisms, as an erratic writer. Wonderful. I want them. But, as I said, I don’t want that on this page. OR, screen. Tomorrow, another run scheduled. Around SV Winery’s estate, actually. 9:45am show. Excited, wanting to make this, keep it, habit. On today’s run, I thought: “Can’t let mySelf not follow through with the project, just ‘cause I’m afraid it won’t sell. If I do, fail to act, I will have failed before finding out if I fail or not.” No. Tomorrow, printing pages… But, don’t want to talk about that, either. Just want another SB glass. Need it, if I’m to dive into these mikeslognoblog entries. Why am I afraid to read past writings? All the more warrant to write, immediately release.
10:08pm. Tired, looking at these old types to my “no blog log,” as Katie used to call it. Posts that are 100 words, thereabouts, hardly of Literary merit. There needs to be stretch, time, effort. 100 words looks makes me appear rushed, disinterested. Other entries, from July 2010, include old podcasts. The blogging efforts, added and subtracted from my writing sight, sights. Still some more of the white Bordeaux in glass. Love the way its acidity has unexpectedly become shy, but still illustrative. Palate paradox.. love that. Need that Adriatic view. How is that wave body’s nose different from the Pacific? Those are the sort of elements I want to discover, learn, connect with.
Thought of Sunriver on the run back from Spring Lake. The runs on those paths.. I can only imagine, currently, in immediate juncture’s jaws. May be too late for poetry, typing that long verse to “document,” here on the monster. Just saw an old pair of shoes, under the little red table by the door [immediate right, looking at it from inside]. Not sure what they mean, symbolically, if anything, but they have my attention. They appear tired, defeated, at-mercy. Never want to be that way. Has me, this nihilistic stringer, preferring earlier curtain call. Don’t want to deteriorate. Don’t want to merely exist. Like wine, I’m hoping to depart at peak, not in any pratfall. Want to be recalled plenary, not partial.
(7/2/12, Monday, 10:48pm)