10:09pm. Put 1,000 words into book. Well, over 1k, actually. 500 new, over 1k from 2010. Just like winemaking, racking old efforts to bottle. Now, SLOWLY sipping the ’10 Cab I was given to take home, tonight. MY barrels, outside the cave, their ML rates accelerating, topped with the more active culture in the stainless Zin barrel. Still reacting from this recent stomach bug, so I’m done after this glass. Have one of the sparkling berry waters I bought early tonight, from Whole Foods, in the freezer. Want it dangerously cold, for verse writing.. pen2paper. Wrote a spoken word verse the other night, never “posted” it to this bloody blog. Hate when I do that.. see? It then would have been wasted, not having been TRULY written, but typed, on this robotic swamp of a laptop monster.
Other orators, all juvenile, new to trials..
my verses, absurd with the blurted, uncensored–
Go together like sensationalization and those predicting
weather.. let’s see who provides products better..
Imbibed on a tether, ride by a debtor, brag my autonomy..
these devils, never on to me.. crush grapes, get deified in your
despicable rise, while I, pounding pages till I’m out of
ages, struggle stride. Censor yourself, step aside in
true innovative tenure’s actuality, no pause in my reality..
While you wait for time, your device’s functionality to climb.
Me, no dependency.. technology, my dependent enemy.
Tangential chemistry.. my own ambitions, all that blemish me.
I’m sent to sea, offended plenty creeds.. just my vocal
proclivity.. idea-spaced agility. Poetry for me, solely.
May be ailing in my artistic fantasy flailings.. obviously ailing.
Watching me, hunt word matches like illegal whaling.
Not sure why I didn’t title it, but I don’t think I need to. Why does everything need a title, category, simplification.. or genre, like I discussed with that jazz singer/songwriter from Chicago, today, my last guests, just before 5pm, she with her boyfriend [a photographer]. How is time flying so fast, already 10:16p. Need to write faster. Weather today, a painting. for me. My writing, my thoughts. More for forward, with these poems– MY songs. Letting Art invade all my perceptions. The only way I’ll see the Road.
Getting sick of this wine. Afraid to sip more. So I’ll just spill it out. Yes.. what I’ll do, now– Opened the water.. so much better, pairing with these song motives, these rhymes, spoken word delivery.. competitive verse angle.
So much better, for me, touching actual paper, seeing my WRITING, the ink. This: poetry, finally. Class tomorrow, need the whole day to prepare. Watching little Kerouac. IF anything, my little Artist friend will motivate me, urge me to further in my grading/planning. Looking forward to this semester’s end. And if I don’t get classes for Fall, fine. I’ll depend on selling these pages. By Fall’s embarking, I’ll have 3 books, I’m hoping. Or 2. That’s 400-600 pages. That’s what I need. Need to catch my sister in Texas. Or wherever she is on the road, with her projects.
This weekend, my writer’s retreat. IF I go out Saturday night for friend’s birthday, I’m planning on going against character compulsion, to enjoy nice wine with friends. Caffeine only, for the composition, taking notes. I wrote in little pages today, “Imagine what I could capture.” I would virtually be in one of the most advantageous positions I’ve ever been in as a Writer, Artist. Everything, everyone, in front of me, at my mercy. And me, in COMPLETE control.
Tomorrow morning, starting with home brew. Then, to mocha. OR maybe, just home cups. Save my money, devote it to Self-publishing, or my ’13 wine. Money, always a subject, sensitive and other. And it is, always, with MAKING wine. Everything costs. But with writing, all we need is pen, paper. Was watching a new documentary on Tupac last night, how he started, with his writing.. humbled me, completely. I do want to make wine, but not at any slice of writing’s expense.
Looking at the picture I took today, in cave, of the jug I filled with that topping ’12 Zin, for my barrels. I think of that ‘picture’s worth a thousand words’ saying, if you could call it a “saying.” Being in that damp, humid, dark setting, for sake of my creative efforts [all which connects to these pages] has me wanting to be ALWAYS so focused, as I am here, seated with this sparkling berry water. So glad I was as sick as I was a couple days ago. It brought TRUE perspective. And conviction.. drive, levels of which I haven’t felt since on CSUEB’s campus, fighting for my M.A. Tonight, Mike has sight. Ignite.