Going to the store for beer and something for Alice, for her class. Pretzel sticks, she said she needed. She too knows the teacher struggle, to find something full-time. So we to each other vent a bit. But my venting ends tonight, as part of my re-inventive chapters. Time to write like JK did, just typing and not stoping. And I don’t care what Capote said about typing. Frankly, he could only hope to have the style and rhythm Kerouac did. Leaving for beer.. hoping the market somehow moves me.. all the noise, those carts and odd characters I see from this shady neighborhood. Love how clear this desk is, now… Only wish I didn’t take a nap. Why did I take a nap? I remember telling mySelf, with head on pillow, the involuntary reactions already popping, “Don’t go to sleep, don’t go to fucking sleep.” So why did I? Can’t wallow. Writing on.
9:44PM. Opened a bottle of Kunde’s 2010 Reserve Cab. Definitely in Kerouac mode, with poetry at all angles. TV muted, soon to music. Before bed, I’ll have something for recital.. the poetry dueling… Want to be free in these new chapters, and I will be, seeing the Road like Lila, Tali, my sister, and so many others.. my wine industry friend, Lindsay. I refuse to be still, so I have no problem lifting notes from the till… The rule only restrict, regulate, and keep poets in place.. This is my BEAT generation. Only need one member.. me… Mikey.
Had leftover burrito for dinner. Not sure how that pairs with the Cabernet, but who cares. I won’t be told with what to enjoy my wine. These clumsy giraffe winemakers will have some opposing viewpoint, I’m sure, but I’m disconnected from their anointment. I want to see one of those tank tumblers write a novel, or some verse, of any form, phylum. I don’t know what EXACTLY it’d be.. but winemakers have been accosting my composure, reason.. aggravating me, as if to start some Artist strife. That’d be welcomed, if they were Artists. Again.. put pen to paper.. get on stage.. read something, something you wrote, grape thumper.
And so what if Solano passed. I don’t need these community colleges. I’m a writer before a teacher anyhow.. I remember at FT-er telling me one time that at an interview one of the applicants told the committee that her ultimate vision is to live by here pen. The committee was revolted, especially the FT-er I was talking to, telling me this story. Is this fair, being penalized for passion? We Beats don’t care.. we don’t need approval, endorsement.. just our pages, the readers. These FT “professors”, need to recognize there’s a reason they’re teaching, not writing for their passings.
Need another sip of the Cab. I’m aggravated tonight, I won’t hide, lie. Tomorrow, another Annadel meditation session needed. And Poetry, all day.. on the devil’s dime… This Cab, may be my favorite wine at the winery. Or maybe I’m just a victim of blessed bottle variance. Wonder if Rex is sipping anything now, or if his liver’s still on the bench. (4/23/14)