Summit Badge

8/16/13–  Meeting someone who’s successfully launched a startup, nice gratuity injection in ResRoom, to taking home the only Chardonnay from the winery I sincerely enjoy, made for pleasant day.  But it didn’t begin that way, not being able to find wallet.  Turns out the little Artist hid it in his toy chest.  First for that.  4 days till class, couldn’t be more energized.  Thinking the first session, especially for English 5 sections should– you know what, not going to say/write anything.  Just going to let it unfold as it does.

Need a road trip more than ever, to taste different wine, different regions.. more importantly write in new locations.  Newness, something that will save this writer, I’m sure.  All the pictures I took today, the videos, making me see wine more clearly, for what it is: ART.  And it’s meant for us, those sipping.  I know I come off curt, venomous at times towards ‘the industry’, winemakers, certain consumers.  But, I love it all.  Otherwise I wouldn’t be doing it.  But it’s in it’s proper perspective place, for me: MATERIAL.  PAGES.  That’s it.  I don’t take it too seriously, at all.  I just enjoy.  Isn’t that what it’s for?

11:05pm.  Only 2 glasses of the Chard I brought home.  Tomorrow, wine club video shoot, where I was cast to play an Italian man.  Not sure what’ll be demanded of me, but it should be an experience, I’m sure.  Close to retiring the BnW Comp Book, I brought the newJournal downstairs, after checking on Jack.  Again reminded by news that Warren Hall’s coming down.  I believe tomorrow.

On Mountain tomorrow.  And after shift, taking Lawndale.  Don’t care how hot it is.  Today, my 2nd day not running. 87 degrees, forecast for morrow.  I’ll just run slow.  My only goal: finish.  And I don’t care about time, at all.  Just want to enjoy my run.

My next writer retreat: doing a caffeine night.  All coffee.  Might even invest in espresso.  Where would I buy it, though?  Don’t want to get ahead of Self.  Weather on, now.  time to rush a couple lines in newJournal.  Till morrow…


8/17–  Not sure how I’d associate my mood, tonight.  Today, after early A.M. shoot, the day went into frenzy.. was thrust into it.  I always talk about Newness, how much my writing needs it.  But how do I force it, and in the quantities I wish?  For starters, I’m writing in 1 [ONE!!] place tonight.  Right here, on/in this log.  No journal jumping.  Not even writing in newJournal.  It’s upstairs anyway, in bag that sister-in-law bought me, under desk.. don’t want to risk waking little Kerouac.

Sipping this nightcap exceptionally slow.  What it is: beer, all I’ll say.  Only 1 mountain tour, which yielded a nice tip, but I can’t afford to put into stash.  Will have to use it for survival.  And speaking of staying alive, didn’t have my usual morning mocha this morrow.  Couldn’t afford to wait in line, having to be at Estate for video shoot at 8:30am.  Arrived to find Jordan enjoying his coffee, bagel w/cream cheese at one of the round tables, just smiling, composed and reconciled.  I remember envying him, asking Self, “Why can’t you have that sense shape, sensibility?” Maybe I should force it upon Self, to be fully in throw with this Newness.  TV, muted.  Sips tonight, slow, measured.  Waking early to run tomorrow.  No Carmen, just me.  Then, to work.  On lunch, shoot some kind of video.  Harvest, right around corner.. need to think about my approach.  I’ll be out there with them on Wednesday, one of the SB blocks, filming at 6am.  Excited to be out there in the dark, filming, snapping stills, writing, seeing all the strange light patterns.. all those sounds, ground cracklings, grape scents, all of it.  Will make for a long day, yes, but it’ll be worth it.  And I need to capture more than I did in 2012.  This is a first for me, being with the same winery, in this capacity, as the resident writer/blogger/Artist, for two harvests.  Beyond excited.  What I want, as it relates2Newness: different speeches, directly to me, from the vineyards, the numinous sprints around them.

10:59pm.  Again distracted by the phone, all the stills I’ve shot.  Going through little Kerouac’s, all his silly expressions.  So I guess that’s okay.  Forgive me, my atrabilious curvature.  Blaming the day, fact I didn’t have that morning mocha.  Nightcap done.  Envisioning A.M. run.  Alarm, set for 5:30a.  Want to be out door before 6.  Goal?  Not sure.  I guess see what I can fit into 45 minutes, get back into that routine.  And I want to run, from now on, strictly in harsh early hours.

11:06pm.  Time, in attack tonight, I feel.  But I don’t care.  My simplistic advance can’t be de-animated.  Guess Warren Hall came down today.  Sad, but I won’t let Self feel too much, as that would give time another bloody victory.

One of my “friends” by social media’s way, logging all her experiences with guests at a restaurant.  Interesting, as she notes memorable, humorous, odd lines from patrons.  I noted a couple lines from sippers the other day, but need to keep to such habit.  I’ve always thought there were projects, merely in what people say.  Like, “How does this work,” when they reach the bar, stare down at the menu.  I almost want to say, “How do you think it ‘works’?” Look around.. people having wine poured for them, they’re sipping.  And, even before that, why did you come here?  Do you know where you are?


Readying for sleep.

Run, early.

Peace, to streets–

where a writer sprints.