…a Tolstoy book and a toy and book for little Kerouac when he returns from his grandparents’ base in Monterey.. wish I was down there with him, looking at the ocean and smelling the swarm of invisible salt marks, like little periods or colon dots or the dot of a semi-colon, meant for contact and some sensory reaction– notes. Notes of what would, would I see with little Jack and what I’d note, what new dialogue would he throw to my page. I’m poised to pen only novels, or memoirs, or books.. full books, poems only at end if any– yes there’ll be some, as I always see myself of the problematic form and genre. And this sight evolution newest of Mike Massamen as well endorses an emboldened sounding of song in how I consider the words to use, what people need to hear from me and what’s the most ME of it all. This nook, my home sight, like the library of SRJC, that forth floor distance of my conference room on floor 2. And in this nook I wish for some weather pattern like the other day; thunder and those flashes along 12 and obviously the rain, that humidity that greeted me on my 6.2. Would love to experience even more forceful fronts, in the Midwest or South, funnel clouds from a distance meant for observation for writers like me, and just the experience if for some reason I forgot my pen, pad at the hotel. Clouds, always changing shapes and characters, just meant to stare at– why try to make sense of them or define them or say “hey that one looks like a…”. Let the cloud express itself, its voice and recite its verses in whatever form it wields.
Getting a bit tired. Should I take a nap or a shower, hope it wakes me. Maybe I should change my identity, assume some pen name like ‘John Taylor’, or ‘Carl Taylor’ (my fictive character from grad school fiction seminar with Professor Gutierrez). Or Will Barron. The name of a high school friend but I don’t think he’ll mind if I use his name to excite and change the Literary Shape of my fiction, would he? How would he know? I don’t remember Will being that big a read so I don’t think it’ll be problematic in any way. But I don’t favor falsities, of course. I prefer Truth. Even and especially the kind that would put me way of harm or risk or scrutiny– that could, would, help market the book, right? Listen to me, “market”. Sick. I’m infected by all this time in the wine world, all the meetings and sales pitch–
Ending my book with questions, not answers. I hate the concept of closure and I shouldn’t have to conform to any modern reader expectation– the people that read vampire books and checkout line novels and the ones who have subscriptions to tabloids and gossip blogs. Not me. So one question, “What do I do next?” Otro: “What does my character do next?” Et un troisiéme: “When will I be free?”