Hate it when I can’t remember something I was literally just thinking about. Let it go, Mike, just let it go…
Love discovering aspects I don’t understand in old entries. Tells me I was writing in-moment. Precisely what I hope I always do.
Love how these news anchors conveniently cite, quote, incorporate Literature [in this case, Charles Dickens] into their telling, or casts. Makes me sick. Talking on how he felt, Mr. Dickens, as if they know. Again, making this author nauseous. [12/21/12]
12/23/12. Two days later, I’m ready, more than ever for this newer year. Tonight, 2 more standalone’s for small release. Also tonight, only to reward Self if I get each task satisfied: writing in new journal. Find mySelf journal jumping, or project jumping, more than recent weeks. As I have so much envisioned. Flaw or enviable attribute? Not sure yet. May or may not let you know.
Tasted wine today, the MMFM Merlot. Loved what I found, with coworker Len. Syrupy palate with deeply melodic berry shoves. Tonight’s wine, the Cab from night last. Almost didn’t come to this keyboard, glad I did. Ms. Plath, asking for letters, more poetry; not so much of this formalized vocality. I agree. Taking breath.. the poems, precipitating all day, just like that bullying rain. Couldn’t believe that speed of the early morning descent.
Pictures shown to me from a coworker that recently went to Hawaii.. telling me to travel. Also, a fellow writer-friend, rather successful, truly living from his pen, on a wine-wound expedition in Chile. Was reading his blog earlier this evening, right when I got home. Have to get to my office, then to road. No more of this encapsulating normality, redundancy. I’m an Artist.
It’s not4ME, the machine.
Took home a bottle of ’09 Cab, single vineyard, tonight. Not opening it for a while, probably till my solo stay here in condo castle, starting 1-2-13. Time, frightening me, I again realize writing that date. 2013. Ten years ago, in January say, I was in San Ramon, working for the fool-born San Leandro insurance agent. In that apartment on Crow Canyon, where I tasted that 2000 Blackstone Merlot that hooked me to wine, its story. Focusing, or I should say REfocusing, on moment, all I can think about: WINE. Making it. See my tasting Room, guest sipping.. keeping everything entirely simple. Today, thinking of ’13. Might do just 1 wine, but 2-3 barrels of. And yes, I’d somehow be bonded. OR, at the least harness Self to another’s bond. Don’t want to dwell on that part. Not yet. Last Racer, done. Need another. Want to write with pervasive liberty, tonight. TRUE freewriting.
Looking through Plath’s entries, and then the syllabus from Stanford I printed the last night this semester [in that instructor’s lounge area], I need more ink, paper. Why don’t I just dive into the new journal now? Can’t. Not part of the program. Blog, project prevailing, then “new journal.” Has to be that way, if I’m to soon see road.
9:25pm. Late dinner tonight. All the reason I need for this Cabernet, a 24-hours-after-opening analysis. Just decided, not typing anymore after this entry. The new “standalone log” has a column for “project.” Tonight’s “project,” set to be this new journal [no quotes needed]. Poured the ’09 Cab from night previous. Thinking of dreams, possibilities with the year’s new brew. Sip 1, compromised by the brittled Alice just with me shared. A bit too rich, but still tasty. Afraid to leave this entry. Why? I’m over thinking, as frequent.
Looking over at Ms. Plath’s book, left, leaning against latest P&W [Poets & Writers] issue, in jack’s feeding chair. He, upstairs, asleep soundly. His first xmas, really only hours away. Still set on buying him a couple presents more, tomorrow, when I get a couple gifts for others. Looking at an entry from mikeslognoblog, from 2009, right around this time– I cite that I finished a 1950-word short story. Where did that piece, THOSE PAGES, go? Hence the reason, AGAIN[!!!], for the standalone log, I need to keep better inventory of my work, release it more fluidly, immediately.
This wine, telling me to leave device, quickly. Be completely organic with this Literary facedness. Looking at the December 2010 entries, one citing a student that missed over 10 classes that semester, wondering why they didn’t pass. Of course it was my fault, right? Don’t think I’ll collide with much of that at Stanford, I hope. Another piece, or “post,” with “Fruition” in its title. Again, part of this standalone log’s intention. Off to actually write. Tomorrow, morning mocha, a little grading [and I do mean a LITTLE], then time with little Kerouac. Already need a 2nd glass. What grading does. Even before it starts. Self-composing,decomposing.. want rain again. Needed for leathery log canvas.