Tiring, but I’ll keep writing. Time won’t defeat me.. this stubborn poet. Glad I didn’t go out 2nite, succumb 2 pressure from “peers.” Kelly, still in her apartment, enjoying her night. I’ve posted 2wice to blog, still feel stressed. 2nd writing movie, “Stranger Than Fiction.” Still sipping the Cab. Is it speaking to me? Oh yes. But not interference. Still staying home, focused on my work. Looking over these pictures of 2012 fruit, b4 it’s picked, saddened. Don’t know why, as I’m aware that the seductively voluptuous clusters have to B pulled, soon, giving us our wine, and me these wined sessions. But still, it makes me think. Starting the movie, as I want to watch 1 more, or at least part of another, after this. Does that make sense? Did I say that right? The wine, turning my types into blithe brights. OR not really. So proud of my staying in typing bunker, 2nite. Many other “writers,” I feel, would have gone out, drank, done nothing Literary with their eve. Not saying I’m superior, by any account. Just stating on this “blog” that I’m proud of my fortitude, at least for 2nite. Haven’t visited Ms. Plath’s pages. Time, 10:48pm. Do I have time? Don’t care. Need another pour…
And, that’s the bottle. Not ashamed, or afraid, concerned.. as it took me some time to kill all 750ml. My stash, upstairs, begging me to publish these pages– So glad I stayed in. This writing, my oxygen, hydrogen, Life, Leap, Luck, Love. The wine, still telling me to follow impulse, impetus. Kelly, loving her night as well. She halts in her sips, looks at her illustration. This night, on glasses– She thinks of her next trip, what she’ll hopefully sell. She hates the fact that she HAS to sell. But that’s the business, the “trade,” she realized. Sipping again, looking at her watch, Kelly understands that her night’s passing without her permission.
9/2/12 — Back from work [7:08pm]. Not budging from this Literary castle. One more night to Self, making it surely count. Although, I’m not too disappointed with night last, as I did get out 1,000 words, posted that interview to other blog. So tonight, no wine, just slow Racer 5 sips. Watching another writing movie, thinking of Kelly, what she does when she’s not painting. I know she loves her runs in Annadel, bike rides out in Bodega. But I’m not sure what real “downtime” is to her. Still learning, with this constant character.
Suddenly, feeling still, realizing project R launches in 3 days. Probably taking notes tonight, at least a couple. Waking early tomorrow to finish everything, before working at sister’s winery. Have to be there at 12p, but may go in a little earlier. Already tired of typing. Should take a break. Not going to just blindly follow my impulse to open Comp Book. Breaking… But maybe I SHOULD keep writing. Write my way through this. Whatever “this” is. Opening Comp Book, but not touching pen.
Can’t believe I made it through today, honestly. Wasn’t in wine club room, but it was just as hurried, hectic. My first class session, has to be started in a way I’ve never thought of before. The thought of Kelly’s novel sitting on a shelf, self-published of course, just rattled my stationary existential edifice. Should get into some poem, would probably move things a bit in this session.
This typing, this laptop, feel so official. Want to recede to rebellion. That’s it– Writing in rhyme, lined form. Whatever comes to mind. That’s what she’d want me to do. Miss Jack, Alice, but glad I do get 1 more night to Self. What time should I tomorrow wake? Maybe 6. Or is that too early? Not even 8, yet. Hoping to screen 3 writing movies, 2nite– Next, I’m thinking, “Capote.” Watched that film one of the last times I had a night alone, and wrote well, from what I remember.
All writers reading this will understand this next sentiment: I need new words. Always used to encourage students to exercise syntactic variety, and here I am using the same modifiers, tags, descriptors. Kelly would more than likely tell me to just write the way I write. But I’d have to disagree with her, honestly. I want to keep changing the way I write, for growth; for self-expansion, that transcendence, discovery I’ll address the first day of class. And the Kelly novel needs better wording, new colors. She would understand that, definitely.
She sits, watches the news. But she wants to open some wine. Not yet. Just relax, she tells herself. Her sketchpad, on lap. She quickly draws the Golden Gate Bridge, but hurried, to highlight the commutes. She thinks of what she wants to do with her night. Maybe nothing. And would that be so bad? Why did she always have to be “productive?” She hates that word, fiercely. It reminded her of a boss she had, at an office she worked at during her freshman year at SSU. Some small fly-like pest circled around her space as the news descended from weather to hyper-exaggerative obsessive sports reporting, like it was the most important frame set in Human advance.
There’s no intimacy in typing on this bloody mechanism. Now I do need a Comp Book’s pages. Would rather write on a legal pad. Should I hop over to the Safeway just down the block? I’m sure they sell them there. I’d think they do. Staying here. Need a break. And another beer. No wine 2nite, and for quite a while. Stanford on mind, these lectures I’ll be giving this semester. Want them to be Stanford-”worthy” while symphonically appropriate for a composition section. That means, everything has to be written. HAND-written. My Literary act, now, in this night’s sessions: do nothing. Nothing. Going to let the story find me. Land on me. Squeeze me like a lover returning from war, recovering from illness.
More music, I’m thinking. Want crowds following my words. Having books on a shelf is one thing, but crowds following your speech–reacting to it, moving to it, repeating it back to you.. incomparable. Switching gears, permanently. And now, back to doing nothing. Thinking of what I was thinking when I shot these stills on my phone. This movie, seen it so many times I can’t remember a time where I saw something I hadn’t before. Should I turn it off? Of course, dumb question. Just write, to TV– No, music. More free with actual pages, the Comp Book.. Artisanal reality, adjusted normality. Now, completely still. She tells me to make mySelf move, forget about currency. It has no significance. Moment-shape, narrated comically.