One assignment tonight, write for blog.  That’s it.  Back from 7 mile run with Carmen.  We did so in 1hr, 1min.  Planning on running 3 miles in morning, rising at 5:15.  Alarm, yes, again set for that magical clock setting.  Wrote some notes today, after vineyard tour with the four people from IN.  Story’s about guy writing poetry for a girl he works with, but never shows.  His friend knows, wants him to tell her, but the scribbling shy character refuses.  Wrote 2 little pages of material, while at the Reserve Room bar.  No wine tonight.  Just a beer, 2.  Sipping slow.  If I don’t run tomorrow morning, then I’ll write.. have a Barleycorn session.

English 5 tomorrow.. poetry.  1A as well..  The writing I did in class last night with 1A crew.  Going to delay material address, take them by surprise with certain Literary approaches.  Yes, some of them may be reading this sitting, but they’re not in anyway privy to the specific advancements of my lectures tomorrow night.  Where’s newJournal, could scribble specifics in there–

Alice watching shows in other Room, but I just noticed the TV sounds, the ridiculous reality “stars” speaking.  Putting Self in Poe’s place.  Can’t wait till the 1A class reaches his works.  He has a magnetic color to his compositions that Faulkner lacks.  On the run today, I said to Carmen that “I’m a carnivorous composition.. a professor with a better letter…” She lightly snickered, unaware of the past sittings I was referencing.  Should inoculate this first chapbook with that piece.

While running on the trails today with Carmen–my first official trail run, EVER–saw several benches, thought to Self I should do a run & write.  Complete device devoid.  To wander, unplanned, write in locations random, for sake of standalone piece.

Tired.  Too lazy to pull newJournal from running backpack.  Just want to sit here, report everything that streams through thoughts.  Sunriver AGAIN passed through vision while running today/night.

Constantly distracted by this bloody cellphone.  Sick of it.  Want to murder it.  Have it bottomlessly agonize.  Wishing there were no sounds now.  Need break, as I’m agonizing over schedules in head.  A student last night said she had to have things planned 3dayz in advance.  I only praise her, as this writer is in NO way capable of such discipline, pattern.  I’m 2whimsical.  That’s my voice, style, Literary Shape.  Mediated–

Need another beer, then maybe decaf.  MY shell, damaged from run tonight.  If I run tomorrow, I’ll only be going for distance.  3miles, no more.  I don’t care how long it takes me to do it.  If I do it.


9:46pm.  Taking Jackie to Ms. Lisa’s tomorrow, as Alice landed a sub gig.  So, I may have a chance to run, after all.. after I drop off the little Artist.  No matter what conditions confront me, I’ll always find time for Composition.  Tomorrow morning, after run, whenever I run, get flash piece done.. either Name Tag piece or what I was writing today–  But wait, I could wake at 5:30a to write, then run after I leave Jack with Ms. Lisa, then write more after run.  I’m starting to see that my frequent moods are simply the result of me not thinking, not composing Self.  That stops tonight.  And if I can’t type, have the blog’s immediacy, this bloody device, then I’ll ACTUALLY write.  PenToPapeR.


Thinking genre, what to put into this chapbook.  Or the others.  Poe, pushing me.  What I want to rid from days.. these devices, the quibbles, pestering characters.  If it’s not on paper, there’s no offense.  As I see it. Or what I should do, capture the tasting Room.  All the dialogue.  Seems like that’s all I’d write, dialogue.  You only hear conversation, questions.. “So where is this grown on the property?”, which isn’t that bad a question.  Or, statements, like “I taste earth in this.. I can taste the earth.  That makes it earthy,” someone said today.  Perhaps this observation’s sincere, but it was just annoying to me.  Probably not fair, I know, but I’m being truthful.  Another comment, “This is sweet, a sweeter wine than I like.  Why did you do this?” he asked, the man from Atlanta, about the Gerwurtztraminer.  I didn’t even know where to start with this one.

Time for decaf.  Excuse me–

There.  Letting it cool, starting.  Tomorrow, written from moment 1 to last.  Even while Jackie eats his breakfast, I’ll scribble single words– keep thinking about run through Howarth, Annadel.  Have to rush-run 3miles tomorrow.  Should only take me 22-25 mins.  Then I’ll feverishly return to castle2compose.  This decaf, perfect occasion potion, ‘specially when writing.  No jittery jolt, tremoring.  Just comfort, flavor.  Making me think of Paris, or those winters in Sunriver.

Students, responding blog prompts.  Slowly, however in certainty.  May post quick note following these words.  Always thinking of them, what could incite them most.. no, forward them.

Now, the exhaustion sets.  So pleased I’m sipping this dCaf.  Need to soon see Road, for sanity’s sake.  Thinking of bringing Kerouac poems to class.  They’ll be easy to find online, yes.. but I want to buy one of his manuscripts.  But if I do that, I won’t be able to write AS long, having to go to bookstore, then to mainland [main campus] to copy.  Time, too vicious with me.  So.. remedy?  Let me think, while I sleep.

Beat poetry.. interesting.  I remember seeing a video in my high school Creative Writing class, with Mr. Sullivan.  Had me so intrigued, all the comments from Ginsberg.  Thinking of them now, how envious I was/am of Sullivan for his Creative Writing post.  Am going to be doing so at Stanford, sooner than you might think.  Sooner than I[!!!] might think.


The TV, annoying, even

when on mute.  There, off–

budget, thinning.  Sell your pages,



Why the wait?

Licorice lines, lazy design–

my fault, I stalled.

Webbed in my address,

so easily stressed

she says.