Ultimatum, Lot1

Received a nice bit of praise from an old friend, by social media’s away.  He, Dave, reposted my 1,000 words from yesterday, citing one line that clutched his focus, as well as identifying my writing style, saying I “freewrite in a self-expository manner.” Made my day, honestly.  Motivates me to get off this bloody blog, finish the book.  Again, anyone can have one of these web logs.. but how many can go off in total Autonomy, balance a budget, publish their own words, sell those bindings?  And again, many of these bloggers don’t maintain their sites, maybe publishing or “posting” once a week.  Not an Artist maketh that habit.

4-shot mocha, leaving my waters.  Would love a nap before class, but what would that do, but leave me with one of those midday sleep hangovers, pressured to write and prep for class.  Not tonight, or today.  No run this morning.


BUT, I preemptively have a schedule set: MWF, after Kerouac goes down.  Hoping to do 2 miles each time.  So, tomorrow night’s my first run.  Nothing getting in the writer’s way, this time.  Want to do another race, like I did with Jamie, when I worked a the box, in Nov ’11.  OR was it October?  Anyway, one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.  No, just start running, worry about “races” later, if at all.  Just get back into form.. enjoy the thought stream while stomping.  Getting a little hungry.. what to have for lunch.  Sandwich sounds most Literary, like what a writer would have on days with this weather, this strange non-forecasted overcast.

Need characters.  Hoping there’s some at coffee spot.  Not going to that cell of an adjunct office till I have to.  Between 4:30 & 5p.  So if I’m at bean brothel by 2:30, or before, I’ll have 2 hours to write, prep.  Tonight, only Secondary Sources Workshop.  Not at all exciting.

9:28pm.  At coffee house, I left because a man sat right next to me when he could have sat more than ten feet away, on that long cushion.  Glad I detached from that caffeine cave.  Needed the quiet of office to plan.  Now home, sipping remaining Meritage.  Not as luminous as last night, but still quite palatable.  Watching a documentary on African wildlife.  Absolutely fascinating me, muting me in amusement.  Exhausted from today’s classes, excited about the English 5 I was awarded today, just from talking with the Chair.  Why am I taking this second class?  ‘Cause it’s English 5.  Critical Thinking, my thrive modus.

9:34pm.  Tomorrow, in tasting Room.  Or no.. Mountain.  Can’t remember.  Either way, need new photo, video for blogs.  Want to build content, even though I shun it sometimes, the whole blog bore.  IF I could turn it into a business, centered around wine, then why not?  Fall target:  Total Autonomy, teaching classes on side.  And making wine; for experience, material, Wine Love.  Closer to Equilibrium.

Second opinion on ’10 Meritage, opened last night: more entrenched in composition, flavor sequence; a microclimate, mini-scene, suggestion show, palate painting.  Tiring.  About to switch, note mode.  Sentences, draining for Author in my pattern, formation.

= Am I tired of writing, for the day?

= Need another glass.. not much left in mine.

= Want to do an African safari/mission/trip/adventure.. only have pen, paper.. journal like  Henry Jones, Sr.

4/26/13.. This blog may be a huge part of the book.  And what’s wrong with that, long as it’s printed, soon.  Not in mood to pour wine.  Jack’s hand on my knee.. cold claws, my little monster has this morning.  Hard for me to fictionalize my days, as I don’t want to leave him out, or cut him out.  He watches me type, now.  Wonder if he’s as bored as you are.

Today, into wine as deep as able.  Idea drill, into its hill.  The Meritage last night, losing a little of its roll, but still paginated.  Going for run after work, so no glass with crew after shift.  Going to be difficult, as it’s so much in swinging habit, and a nice way to reward Self, but I need difference in character direction, development.  It’ll birth more pages.  [7:13am]

8:51am.  Ready for day.  In departed mode.  Oh, need the little notebook.  Over here in bag next to me…  There.  Cloudy, cold, suggestive gray.  Of what?  Guess I’ll learn soon.

Count down.  About four months.  My deadline.  To be in office.  Autonomous.  FREE.

8:56pm.  After day, I’m sipping ’11 Magnolia Lane Sauvignon Blanc from the winery.  Just opened it.  Had some water with dinner, after going on my first serious run in months.  Tentatively, I’m setting Self to run Monday, Wednesday, Friday.  Eventually, I’ll add a 4th day.  Then fifth.

Two Mountaintop tours today, the second entailing an unexpected proposal.  Both tours, 1 couple.  Did a Meritage tasting this morning, almost as soon as I set foot on Estate.  And that was all the wine I tasted all day.  Was committed to running up Bethards to Summerfield, then back down Bethards and up Yulupa.  Have to keep Self with this habit.  With poetry month coming to its hurtful close, I need all the newness I can gather.  This SB, freeing me.  Having trouble going, tonight, with these lines.  Think of something, Mike.. anything…  The e.e. cummings poem we read last night, its harsh critique of mankind, calling us “manunkind.” Need my track to do just that, open eyes, cause us all to stop, double-check, consider.

Want two tracks finished tonight.  Both poem, song..  Me, the poems, an article of our own.  On my run, thought about what I saw, the latter hours, evening gust pushing weeds, brush, wild wheat on path’s 2 sides; what I want.. right NOW.  Songs, flooding my streams.  Have to get off this blog, away from these paragraphs.  Don’t have time anymore in this Life to think.  About anything.  Just need to write.  Like Morrison, Plath, Shakur, cummings.

Think I’m only going to finish 1 track.  Tired from that run.  And this SBlanc, even though I slowly into it throw, adds mental weight.  Hoping tomorrow’s a bit warmer.  Want summer’s seat in our space, there in Kenwood.  And I think I’m going to visit my barrels tomorrow, check for reduction, any compromise in delivery, stance, flight.  Hoping for best, as with all matters Creative, expressive.  Keeping Self as obsessively alive as able.

Tomorrow, pretending there are no digitized shackles connecting with my writing process.  Only ink, unlined sheets.  Beyond purist–  Actualist.

Where’s my phone?  I don’t care.  Well, I do, but I shouldn’t.  Wish these devices would just fry themselves.