It centers me, I guess. I have to write. I remember between classes at Foothill college, while it was pouring in ’98, during El Niño, I would sit in my 1974 Super Beatle, baby blue, with an intermittently leaking roof, writing verse to whatever was on the radio. Or that Makaveli mixtape a friend leant me. Every free moment I have, I’m holding a pen. Love ink more than my morning mocha, more than any caffeine source. Certainly more than wine, or beer.
12:02pm. With today’s thousand into book project, or “book idea” as I always qualify, I feel accomplished already. Maybe that sizable credit card payment, which also had my mood ascending. Want to be 100% debt free as an Artist. It’s jut more stress that delays disseminating Craft. Yes, for my new car, which I need, and my first house, I’ll need loans. But that’s about all I see mySelf assuming. Maybe 1 vacation home, for writing and…vacation. Looking at some printed pages, right, here on the more sightly top of my desk. Like the title, “echo illustrate.” The prose, a little choppy, but I don’t care. I’m putting it out there. Wine Bar beats, in play. My day.
In way of song, yesterday scribbled a 40-line spoken piece. Will type it later, print, put in collection. Just printed two recent poetry pieces from this log. But, I’m getting stir crazy in this house, even with my animated little Kerouac. Need a drive. Need just a 1-ounce pour of air. The spacing still seems to be off in this WP program. Swear, I’m hating technology more with each calendared number, as it relates to writing. Comp Book, becoming my friend more dependable. The beats, sending me to Road, whether I want to be in transit or not. And obviously I do. For page. Thought of my envisioned formula, this morning, during session. Write, publish, road; return to write about road, publish again, back to road. What would THE Kerouac think?
Back in the tasting Room tomorrow. But I think I’m on the mountain. Good. Need the atmosphere up there. Those views.
5:50pm. Back from run. First in a while. Still want to do that mud run in Petaluma, this September. Somewhat hungry, but not enough to distract me from what I was thinking earlier, what I was fantasizing in on my run up Summerfield. I thought of running on a beach in Hawaii. I know, what everybody, even those who don’t run, ever, want to someday do dozens of times over. Was also thinking about what I saw today, while at the park with Jackie and Alice; kids, playing a jungle set, if that’s what you’d call it, if that’s what it’s called. All they were concerned with: playing, pretending. Why do we lose that enjoyment as we age?
10pm. Paired the ’08 Moshin Sonoma Coast Pinot with a veggie burrito. Still can’t believe that woman from the Moshin crew walked into Kunde’s Room only days after I wrote that piece praising the bottle I bought at Oliver’s. And that same day, one of the Oliver’s owners joining me for a mountaintop tour. On a separate note, with this second glass, I watch a Godfather documentary on History. New this was a significant film, but never took notice of the stratagems, subtleties. Makes me think of my family, my business, how I refuse to be on any wine industry “big shot’s” strings. I’m doing all the pulling. Salut’. This Pinot, not going to innumerate “nuances.” Dumb it down to a characteristic cataloguing. This wine’s better than that. It’s like a foggy flavor envelope. It’s ghostly. Following me. To pages. A curse. Today, like a reassurance, a re-emphasis. Should have bought some wine at St. Francis when I was there yesterday. Why didn’t I? What, was I trying to be responsible? Maybe I just forgot. Wanted that Rhône blend. And the Petite Sirah. I even wanted that Russian River Zin. In a wine mode, mood, more than I’ve been in weeks. Probably months.
Not posting to blog. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow, for this session. Wait, did that make sense? What should writers, or readers to get from this? To know when to stop. I should stop these types. Research whatever I was set to research. Now I can’t remember. Hate when that happens. OH, now I remember… Inspiration [hate that word]. Closer to the road. My office. Everything.