Devices End First

Tired after today.  Not much motivation to do a single Literary thing.  But I made mySelf sit, with this full glass, red blend, to type.  No more than 500 words.  And I mean not a WORD more.  All day today, guests’ questions annoying me.  I know that’s not fair, but I’m being truthful, as Mr. Hemingway would have his students do.  “So is this barrel expensive?  How much with all the wine in it?” How do I answer that question?  I of course provide a roughly rough estimate, but still.. what a question to ask.  Was supposed to run today, as you know, but no energy 2do so.  Most helpful part of day, seeing old friends, recently engaged, JK and Mindy.  Haven’t seen them in over a year.  Made me again think of time, how it travels to its destination, to end things, people.  It’s so indiscriminate, cruel.  Especially to writers.

Tomorrow night, workshopping of 4 pages.  Know exactly how I’ll proctor the session.  If any students show complete lack of progress, I don’t know what I’ll do.  Probably nothing.  I mean, what would they expect, at such a point?  Want to have two poems for both sections.. thinking 1 Poe, the other Shakur.  The similarities in tone, theme, 2me seem so evident.  Want to see what the matriculants think.  Want to break a bit from this infernal final paper.  They know when it’s due, and I keep reiterating ONUS, so why not tangent into another activity?  Poetry, all structure in platters for passion.

This ’10 blend, falling apart, or maybe it’s just in a valley, as wine does that in bottle, I in ’11 learned from Kaz.  I’m still it sipping, just not as rapt as I was the last few times I it sipped.  Have coffee machine all set for morning brew.  5:30a, if I remember right.  Alice offered to wake with Kerouac, but I can’t allow that.  Early AM’s our clock slice.  And if I can have caffeine already in cue when the little Artist rises, I’ll be on my way for a 3k day.  You know.. that’s my goal, inclusively.  3,000 words.  Mostly for OFFblog.  Love this new project, I have to tell you.. venting everything about the industry, about– not going to tell.  You’ll have to read when I send it to print.  Need a break.  Suddenly [I hate that word] the wine reveals a more evidenced eucalyptus-y, minty, earthy shake than in previous nose-ings.  Not sure I like the moody nature of this bottle.  AND, maybe it’s just the bottle.  But I don’t have the luxury of analyzing bottle variance, as this is the last from my cellar, I think.  So I can only judge what’s in front of me.  On palate, it seems hot, sharp, uneven.  Interesting.  An unexpected winemaking lesson.

11:02pm.  May go a little over 500, but not much.  Already looking 4ward to coffee.  Reality TV, poisoning the populous, obviously.  Now, in Spoken Word mode.  Thinking about my mood, early, when I touched down on Estate.  OH, people could be reading this.  But I won’t be censored.  And no writer should.  No freethinker could.  Why can’t I speak my mind?  “That’s unprofessional,” someone could I guess somehow say.  But, again, I’ll continue to speak, write.  Be a writer.  Let it be KNOWN:  I fear nothing, because I write.  Everything’s being recorded.  All ills, one day printed.  And names named.  Already over 500, so I’ll heel b4 6.  Just poured night’s cap.  Time4verse.  Can’t wait4coffee.  Morrow’s 3k.  News, not interesting.  Just embellishment, sales pitches, fear-mongering.  Finally, awake.