vin jot

At Mom and Dad’s, enjoying quiet.  Tempted to go out on back deck and enjoy night air and see into nothing I can see.  Miles plays and the quiet is an entrapping intoxicant.  Beer, right–  Tonight’s one of those meditative nights you’ll remember forever.  Dad just went to bed and I’m here with my beer, thoughts intrinsically clear.  My tone and mentality, mellow.  Tomorrow, my Friday, but not really.  Teaching.  Doesn’t matter, I don’t want days off.  I want creation all days, each day, all seconds.  This is a moment– something to capture… me at the bar counter at Mom & Dad’s, sipping my beer slow and I won’t lie I might have another after this, enjoying the scenic mute and stillness, pause and peace of all with chatter and clutter replete.

Earlier tonight had an Albariño, followed by Dutcher Crossing ‘PR’ Cab.  Anymore, wine teaches me that I have so much to learn about its momentum and visual, voracity and musical poses.  Distracted for a second, and I know why–  I’m tired.  From the day even though today could have tested me resoundingly more.  Quiet… a funny thing.  Hank Mobley tells me to find my soul station.  Have I?  If I haven’t now I’m sure I will eventually.  Dad brought up tonight the idea of an ‘end-game’.  Very much know what mine be.  ME.  Mike Madigan selling wine or whatever at his own posture and pace and reality.

Getting tired.  And I’m trying to resist, but I’m unsuccessful.  Will have to wake earlier than early to get home “on-time” and get ready for winery, be on road in time for Windsor writing…  Interesting night, honestly…  wine talked about as well as business, careers, corporate atmosphere, vision and professional selection.  The writer falls to sheets, thinking.  Another sip.  Centered.  Thinking.  More Miles… meditating.  Tired, yes, but awake from my typewritten pace.

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