untitled, over dayz

So glad I don’t have to add onto another entry, written 24 hours past.  Dinner tonight, with Mom, Dad.. nothing but thought.  Even ventured into Artistic merits of winemakers vs WRITERS.  Interesting, the Ideas Exchanged.  Here in castle, sipping Torpedo.  Want to get to bed earlier than I did last night.  Have I taken full advantage of this writing retreat?  Can’t think about that now.  Time, in full attack.  Have to write, to outrun it.  Want to relax, just enjoy the night, watch the rest of this movie.  So I have a plan, suddenly…

Need to get2BED early.  Well, earlier than I did last night.  Just said that, sorry.  Felt horrible this morning.  Did for most of day.  Didn’t take a lunch.  And I’m glad I didn’t–  Just want to enjoy the night, watch the movie, finish this Torpedo, then to bed go.  Can’t stay late awake, as I last night did.  In fact, I’m already eager for morrow’s coffee concoction.  Why do I always have to be writing?  Why can’t I just live, note what I like, whatever strikes?  You know what, reader.. just what this writer shall do.  The annoyed attitude with which the writer this A.M. woke, returned.

Not in the mood2WRITE.  IS that wrong?  My character, offering other books.  How do I appropriately follow?  Need another sip.  Kelly, talk2ME…

I know you’re reading.  I’ve run out of speculations.  I need your direct counsel.  I’m tired of this stall.  Wine’s industry, boring me.  I’m cautioned to be quiet.  But I can’t.  I’m a WRITER.  An Artist.  YOU understand.  Much more than They do.  Time, already 11:31pm.  Going to not-write.  Make notes, only, in Comp [Book].  Need a night of nothingness.  Laziness.  Getting up, to sit down.  Kelly, where R U when I need?

As I age, think the mornings are more valuable than eves.  Coffee compliments composition much more than these bottles.

The next morning…  8:28am.  Have to be in Reserve Room at 9:15a, so I better soon leave if I’m to be timely.  Gatsby night of sorts tonight, down the street at Jill’s.  Cabernet tasting.  Finally it happens.  Will write later.

7/20/13.  Gatsby night, last night, more than enjoyable.  But tonight, slow, on this last night of my writing retreat.  Putting book on bit of a hold.  Just for night.  Writing a little here, for blog, then to Comp Book.  Want to get into bed early, so I can write early.  Nice tip today, giving business stash a healthy boost.  Need to fully enjoy, appreciate this night to Self.  Tonight, this final session: all about truth.  And what’s truthful, is I’m in need of poem.  Freedom.  The musical.

Today lunch break, the afterwork beer with J, setting stage for tonight’s Artistically meditative evening.  Now, looking at stash.. building.  A sizable brick, or brink, by this laptop.  Time, 8:39pm.  Going to begin Comp Book session at 9, or earlier.  Throwing Self fully into moment.. songwriting.  Inspired partially by J telling me a story about when he and one of his bandmates stayed up late, sipping wine, writing.  Love Art, living as an Artist.  And that’s MY truth.  That’s what I want.  No lies, no deceit.. just me, moving freely.  Have to re-audit this envelop.

$524.  Should close up the envelope, leave it alone.. don’t look at it for months.  Or weeks, at least.  8:50pm.  Need to post this entry– no, what if I didn’t?  Posting takes from writing time, especially factoring in the edits.  Just want to write, enjoy my evening.  And music.. need music.  Want to write as a poet/songwriter 2nite.  Not as a diarist– well, no, as a diarist, just one RHYMING.

Too old for Gatsby nights, I’m finding.  Need to return to my running, forget about all else.  But the writing, of course.  And wine, it’s consumable, not as important.  Not to this writer, anyway.  One of the topics we covered the other night.  Mom, Dad, and I.  Just want to see that Road, all Roads.  And my office.

Thought about opening some wine tonight, but can’t bring mySelf to doing so.  Just nursing beers, Racer 5’s.  Sipping so slow.

Note: vineyard tour today, with group from NY [Staten Island, I think].  Where tip came from.  But more importantly than that, I enjoyed mySelf, as in pain as I was from preceding eve.  The questions from these people, not in anyway “stupid,” as the man always Self-prefaced, disclaimed.  I appreciated their interest in the estate.  The wines.  Listening to my words, thoughts on what surrounded us.

9:20pm.  Ten lines of verse.  Know I said I’d not return to this log, or that’s what I meant to imply.  But you know what, reader.. I’m not going to overthink it.  This.  Any of it.  Tonight’s meant to be meditative.  When should I aim to go2sleep?  Whenever it feels right.  Not planning.  Just realized, or remembered I guess: It’s Saturday night.  Maybe I should have a HOME Gatsby night.  No.  Want to wake early to write.  Hot up here, at this desk.

What am I doing typing?  Want to FULLY immerse Self into poet’s shape.  And poets/songwriters/REAL Artists don’t write on a devil laptop.  Going downstairs for another.  Could be night’s cap, as I’m beginning to feel a bit tired.  How much sleep did I get last night?  Something in neighborhood of 5 hours.  2old4such.  Closing doc.  Immersion…


7/22/13–  Downstairs, sipping sparkling water.  Was going to write after run tonight, but no running.  Will restart such again in morrow.  My Saturday.  Lectures planned for first couple weeks, both classes.  Wouldn’t say I’m ahead of schedule, but I’m moving, not stationary.  After this term, I’m hoping, I’ll be on Road, speaking at colleges, both community and university.

Today at estate, everything from filming to a single mountain tour with a couple from Maine, to topping my blended barrel.  Weather, oddly humid.  Wonder if we’ll see thunder, lightning again.

The writing retreat, wouldn’t call it a failure, just a profound disappointment.  DIDN’T finish book, get it to print, which was my only primary goal.  BUT, I DID write.  AND, I did finally get to Napa, to do my solo mission; tasting, lunch, writing.  I didn’t run, though.  Not a single day, with is frustrating to the writer.  Tomorrow, patching that wound.  Would love to run along Greece’s beaches.  Hate this infinite wish list ever intwined about this log.  How do I get to the Road?  How did she, Kelly?

Feeling Self getting exhausted by the writing, the utter absence of income from.  So what do I do different?  Easy, let all go–  All caution, discretion, loyalties [especially to ‘the industry’].  Just write what I’m thinking.  And believe, reader, there’s much the writer’s entertaining this evening, especially with the whole notion of being an “employee.” SOMEONE’s employee.  The fact there’s a possessive implies some level of possession, or ownership.  No one, no business, no business owner, owns Mike Madigan.  Know that, if YOU’re reading.

Water 1, done.  Should get to be soon, as Jack demonstrated this A.M. that he still very much anatomically/mentally holds to East Coast time subscription, following his DC visit.  But I want another [water].  Ready for morrow’s run, writing, morning coffee, lecture prep.  Before semester starts, I want at least 30 posts to this new blog, maddenedread.  The Author’s motive.. a concept we all have to understand when we read, react in writing, if we’re ever to be read writers.

Wonder if there’s a line, with my entries, between therapy and self-deceit.  Or maybe my “genre” involves meditation.  Throat dry, from this recent mini-bug I’ve caught.  Think it’s already on its way away, but it did slow the writer slight today in tasting Room.  But I’m pushing past.  Have to.  Getting sick doesn’t write manuscripts.  Air conditioner came on, and I realize, for some reason more than ever, that I need to get to road.  These evening home sessions aren’t completing many manuscripts, either.  No more Gatsby nights, just studio lockdowns.  No socializing, only scribbled solitude.

My phone, giving me more trouble.  At the point where I wholly care less than I ever did.  Have to force Self to disconnect from all this tech, internet related fields.  Calming, or trying, thinking of that couple’s reaction to mountain’s top. Their mentality, perspective, what I need if I’m to fly as one of pen– positive, seeing more possibilities than painful pauses.  One of my first acts, detach from what has me had– these things, the devices, the buttons, the “apps,” the “social networking.” Be.  An.


And finally, the phone begins charging.  Why do I care?  Why did I note that?  Playing into this devil’s game.