Again reminded I should only be depending on Self for income, or “bonuses,” commissions. Not going to elaborate, and not from fear, just I don’t need to. Going to find funding for all I want in bottledaux. I will publish by paper’s way.. BOOKS, as I’ve only ever wanted. But I have to start with this blog first. Another opening thought: all this “networking” in the wine world, the “industry” component… What does it do? And what I mean is: What are the immediate material benefits to “networking” with these people? One will say something to the effect of, “It may benefit you down the line.” Why would I want any career advancement to be predicated on others? Why not my own merit, talent? The sloshy wine world is full of this, has been since I’ve been in. No, since I’ve been exposed to its scenes. But, again, I’m not paying those ingredients much mind, other than I’ll use it for page propellant. I’m in control. And I’m an Artist, no allegiance to this industry. Sipping an ’08 single-vineyard Cab, remembering how much I love wine, how well it corrals my type of writing, from these diaries.
8:56pm. The videos I show today, especially that one of the bottling line, telling me I need to bottle my page blends. Now. Problem though, with today’s news: quite simply, funding. Already dipped into my savings. That’s why I need product of my own. These pages. A chapbook. Don’t have time to gather a full book-height release. Plenty of Artists out there, far less deliberate, contemplative than me, just writing & releasing, living from their Literary leaps.
This bottle’s contents, a bit reluctant. Not oxidized or corked, just hesitant. But I’ll keep sipping, giving it chance, just as I want readers to give me a chance– a budgetless penman. Writing in kitchen, distracted by reality TV Alice watches, unwinding from her long day with an increasingly, persistently curious little Kerouac. He sleeps, just up those stairs, right. What’s through his little imagist thinking? Would love to know. His acceleration, developments, accelerating, quicker than I can handle. And all I’m aiming to achieve–no, that I WILL–for him. With HIM always in thought, MY thinking.
Class tomorrow night, no technological dependency. Made that mistake for the last time, last night. Only learning focus. READING. Bringing in poems, facilitating discussion, in-class writing (that will be submitted for credit). Returning to my purist teaching approach. That’s what’s significant.. not putting on some movie, showing excerpts to fill time then have some threadbare back-and-forth. Would rather have page address than filmy mess. Was so embarrassed last night when that happened, but the students were surprisingly comforting, assuring me that this type of thing happens, “it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” sympathies similar. I moved on, quickly. This did NOT weaken Mike Madigan. It rebuilt me, in a number of ways that I don’t have the time to catalogue, that the wine won’t allow me to simplistically list.
Asked my 100 students to do some research on something they’re interested in, finding a credible secondary source. I’m planning on doing the same, two-fold. MY research, set to make a student, yet again, of the bottled ox. Poetry, Literary Theory.. my targets. Want my students to dive carelessly into learning’s joy, and I reserve rights to do just the same with teaching.. AND learning. I want to be a student, one SELF-educated. I don’t need some institution to grant permission for me to be an authority in what baskets my passion– And my thoughts, cut. Still laundry in the communal laundry/storage room. The other night, when I wen to retrieve our pieces, only to find that some barnacle removed them from dryer, tossing them on some filthy table, ordered me to buy my family a house. A standalone HOME. Tired of this complex, its decrepit swarm of smarmy figures. bottledaux, my only sanguineness. But I don’t think it’ll take that long, honestly. And the “traditional” division, meaning actual paper usage, will only make my company more truthful, Artistic, appealing to anyone admiring minds like mine.
9:21pm. Off to get laundry. Better be where I left it. […] And, only appeasement. Away from the isolation of kitchen’s nook, here to couch, watching this “reality.” I will say, there’s a thematic consistency, a tonal punctuation.. a story. But, Alice goes upstairs, and I change channel. Mrs. Doubtfire, haven’t seen this in a while, years actually. About to spring to kitchen for night’s Cabernet cap. Rushing to terminate these blog typings, to write in newJournal. Spoken Word, song.. MUSIC. No formality, only FEELING. That’s Art, to me.
Looking through these old entries, on blog.. I too have quite the linear motif. WRITER STRUGGLES. That’s what makes an Artist, till they find their time. And I think I finally have, as an ox in this bottle, right before 34. Just in time, with a marvelous little man, my precious wee Kerouac. Wonder if the ’08 Cab’s still frightened of response, or even Human reaction. Cork, still away from neck. Off to pour4Self…
Wine, much more open; it’s reciting, astonishingly. Not at all what I met when I pulled the traditional stopper from that slender extension. Want music, like the other night, but I’m forcing Self to watch TV. Not sure why. The contents, collectively, about as absent of meaningful impact as “the industry.” The wine, though, wines like this.. absorbing, elementally engrossing. And let it be understood, CLEARLY.. I have no skirmish with where I currently work. I’m sipping one of their wines NOW. But, they’re the exception. What truly proves the “rule,” what’s ruling. And that’s what I oppose. As an Artist. Need another sip, as I bore of talking about “the industry,” wine’s BB.
Cherry, coffee, mint, herb, surprisingly colorful tannins for such a lean vintage. Glass, telling me to ditch this devil device.. be truthful, more so, in Artistry. Pen2paper, newJournal: FREE. Looking at this word doc’s page amount… I’m at 420 pages. FOUR HUNDRED TWENTY [hits harder when written.. or typed out]. And still, no book. that has to change, if I’m ever to be free. Watching news now.. bored. Back to Doubtfire. Starbucks, stating in ads, “Converts Wanted.” No way they’re getting my morning mocha money, tomorrow. ’08, still in glass. To paper I pass. Avast amassed– That’s who I want teaching my students. Peace …