9/18/12 – No blogging yesterday. Did type 700+ words of salable prose. Last night’s lecture, not as tight as I thought it’d be delivered, but it went fine. Photography, something I’m more pursuing by the day. Going to start having my works kept off-blog, both with stills and scribbles. Giving away my Art cheapens it, I’m finally realizing at 33. So, more for me, less for common consumption. Think Kelly, when at her shows, thinks of me, what I do with this blog, how I post too much. She’s mentioned it a couple times, and I’ve not so much shined her on as lazily laid my aired head in a sand bed. But, I’m waking up. This morning, been up since 6:30-something, with Little Kerouac, my constant reminder that time’s pressing without my permission. And our skirmish further sequences.. Me, that fanged clock.
7:46am. Not sure if they’re expecting me in the vineyard this morning. But I’m going anyway. One of the wine world’s attributes that I find bothersome as one from pen: all this permission-based knowledge, activity, education. Me, I can just sit, scribble, release and sell– read through a writer’s passages, Self educate whenever I’m hankered. There, or anywhere by vine, you have to see if there can be a guide assigned; where you can go, at what time, how long you can be there.. does your availability match another’s. That translates to dependency, the elemental existence filth I’ve always abhorred, scorned.
Kelly, with her scattered shows, learning more about Self, selling, her Craft– approaches, adventures in “aesthetic,” much I hate the word [because so many now use it, overuse it, overmisuse it]. Her new blog effort, not giving away too much. Just a pic, passage, here, there. A little travel detail. More followers than I’ll have any time soon. Just starting to learn from her flights; with each brush stroking, painting her Burgundy glasses, or Bordeaux, she falls deeper into Autonomy. She just realized, this all started from curiosity, asking herSelf, “What if I could?” She couldn’t tell if it was just plebeian optimism that landed her here, or colors. The wine glasses she one day decided to decorate. Maybe this wasn’t her decision. What would she ode?