words typed, tonight. Shouldn’t be so quantity-obsessed. I’ve said this forever. So why do I continue to count? Subscribe to that count? You got me, reader. No idea. No more wine, fine. I’m ready for bed. Not even interested in poem, spoken word. Only rest. [11/3]
11/4 — Devoting night to the book. What’ll sell. This daylight savings has me in shades peculiar. Was strange seeing the sun so low as we closed the tasting Room. Throat, scratchy, but I’m not sick. Don’t have time 2B. Tomorrow, my Saturday, with little Kerouac. Plan on getting quite a bit of writing done, as with last time I spent entire day with him, my little propellant. Rain expected, in days coming, but of course it falls on a day I work. Can’t be a day I have off, of course. Tuesday, my Sunday– tied in winemaking activities. Can’t wait. Hopefully I’ll lock down this 2nd whoso wine for ’12.
Just sneezed. A little startled. This writer can’t get sick. He can’t afford it. Not in mood for wine tonight. Probably another Torpedo. Need that sippability of a beer, rather than the sharpness of a wine. Just my palate, 2nite. MY books, need to be like this blog.. frequent, continuous. If I wrote toward books projects as I did this imbrued “blog,” I’d already be on Road. Something for the writer to think about tonight, aside from the ’07 Reserve Cab I poured, tasted, then poured.. tasted again, at work. What a romantic wine, not as bold, as ardent as one might expect an ’07 Cabernet to be, whether from Napa or Sonoma Valley.
About to plunge into book. Have the Torpedo open. Just sneezed again, 3x. I can’t get sick. Too much on plate. If that proposition passes, can’t remember the number, I have a better chance at getting a section next semester. If not, then I have to sell this writing to replace that currency. And I apologize for not seeming more excited about project R. Tomorrow’s lecture, going to be fully written, like many of those previous. I plan to overwhelm students 2morrow with knowledge. Class’ 1st half, to ‘Girl, Interrupted’. Last half, to horror film deconstruction. Always a professor, always with Stanford on brain. The notes from yesterday, with the father visiting with his daughter, a PhD/MD student at Stanford; father telling us [after she told us what she was studying, shyly, with reluctantly humble frame] “she’s scary smart,” made me again think of teaching at that canvas, my ever-envisioned place, lecturing as a best-selling author. Breathing, dreaming, with pen’s pulse crazily streaming.
11/5 – Leaving for class in a couple. At SBUX on 12, Mission. Departing in 7 minutes. Mocha, almost gone. And no, this isn’t my 2nd. Only 1st. Tomorrow, all wine and winemaking duties. Will write only when they’re done. Need material Plan on taking pictures, responding to them later. Capturing moments I don’t have time2WRITE, so I don’t lose them, don’t forget. I don’t trust my memory, not with my level of passion. Find mySelf moving too quick. One of my faults. Still not used to the early darkening, post-daylight savings. Daylight “savings.” Huh? We lose light, how is that saving? Sure you have an explanation, but I’m not interested. Now, 5:06pm. Leaving in 4. Should start packing. Book, closer to draft completion. Jack definitely helped with the day’s progress. Finding that whole days I spend watching him, the writing result’s better, more delicious; more believable; heaping with truth. 2minutes. Leaving. Not in mood for certain elements ahead. May leave road, early return. And what can anyone do?
10:07pm. Corked the ’10 Cab. Not feeling too well. Going to have one of those flu drinks in a minute. Over 3,000 words for day. Only the 3rd or 4th time I’ve done that. You know, I’m just going to say 3rd, as I can acutely remember. There’s a show, on an unexpected channel, that has my attention, having to do with blogging, social media [which I’m not the biggest proponent of, but it does, can help my work..], filming, documentary-type work. Clocking out, proud of my day’s work.
11/6/12 — Voted. Haircut. Just now, though, sitting down to write. Oh, and I picked up my shipment in AV. Shot a video on 128, on grounds of one of my favorite wineries. Over 3000 words yesterday. Still can’t believe it. Wow, I did it again, for only the 3rd time. Only checking in briefly to let you know what the writer’s done thus far. Nice pictures from AV, as well. Can;t believe how warm it is outside. Still 2 Torpedos left in fridge, thankfully. This is definite beer weather. Back in tasting Room tomorrow, and I’m glad as documentary ideas keep glowing in my mind for sakes of this blog. That program last night gave me dozens of ideas as to growing bottledaux into some kind of lucrative practice. I’ll always be true to the writing, of course.. I’m a writer. I’ll grow a “business” from the media side. There’s nothing wrong with that. My Literary intentions are in no way compromised. I want it all, as it’s been said.
Still have to compose midterm for class tomorrow, well as Essay 3 handout. Bought 3 of the ’10 Pinot from AV Winery. Saving those, though. For what? I don’t know… Maybe the next night alone, the next solitary eve for Craft’s benefit. No, that would call for Cabernet, wouldn’t it? Either way, I have 3 bottles of an amazing Pinot in my “cellar.” Speaking of wine, cellar and what.. I didn’t make it to winery today. Shame. I’ll see what I have to do to my wine, tomorrow.
10:16pm. Capping night, after election results. Finally sitting down to write, with remainder of the ’10 Cab. Politics, always a funny thing to me. Will my life be that much different, even when it ended as I’d hoped? Probably not. Just what I’m thinking about. Finished a rough draft of the midterm for class, tomorrow night. Feeling much better tonight, even with this odd tickle in throat’s backstage. Not spending much time on keyboard, as I’m craving REAL writing in Comp Book. Giving Self to pages last space to express my moment. Only want poetry, right now. Not in mood for novel. In fact, if anything, I’m with rattler, fangs, in its entertainment. At day’s end, I’ll be a poet, scribbling in some notebook, reciting in the filthiest café, hoping for even 1 listener. Have to go through past entries on blog, transfer all those poems uploaded from phone over to this doc. Hate that phone, but am amorously dipped in its functionalities as well. Much of bottledaux, as a BUSINESS, will be accredited to that little rectangular ravish. Hate to say that, especially as an Artist, one so proud of his expressive Autonomy, but its true. Hope the box can see me now, through those webbed cubicle death walls. This Cabernet, telling me to leave screen, go play. Obeyed. More sheets 2 fill. Remember all those lunches, while at the box, before I’d go to café to write, just voicing grievances with coworkers, over a burrito I couldn’t afford, shouldn’t have bought. Can’t believe I finally am where I am. vinoLit …