inward jot

img_2612Posted first stream of thought for day.  06:11… can hear son upstairs, awake, so this session will be soon severed.  Not a big deal.. done with coffee, hoping wife will bring another home for me but not counting on it.  May just brew self another cup.  Read… I have to read, today.  The alchemist…. Want to start binge-reading, at morning, night times, gather as much thought as I can from my lectured authors.  Starting with Coelho, the boy character, the sheep, the travel, the education from experience.  May read a couple of my students’ papers, again, for inspiration and propulsion into ideas new.

Today.  New.  A new me.  A new everything about me and my character, what I’m doing as a writing father and when I get to my travels how I’ll appreciate and meditate in them.  Can hear my son whistling upstairs, not worried about a thing on his Summer vacation.  Nothing.

This last semester for me, showed me wha tI’m to do, and what I have to “scale”, as so many of these speaking types tout and flout.

Think son is talking to daughter…. So the sitting has to stop but I can record them and write what I learn, later.  Son, wanting to do so much with his day, a mind I need mimic, and daughter wanting to see, do, touch, speak everything she observes.  Both teaching me about me, and what I need read and put to book form for my back-and-forth’s across the planet.  Learning from now… your Now, the scene right where you are… where you are and what you’re doing.  That’s your story.  I get it. I See it, believe and breathe it.  So now what.. okay.  Well…. Keep going.  Keep writing.  Can hear me talking to myself like I’m one of my students coming to their instructor of record with some problem or question on an essay assignment.

11:23.  Busy day, time with wife and little Kerouac after taking Emma to school.  Keeping busy on this day off when others would more than likely do who knows what… about to go for little drive, take some pictures on Olivet Road, and bring them back home for posting.  The vineyards come to life and me as well here with my third or fourth coffee cup for day.  Know that’s probably more than a healthy amount, and amount one would consider healthy, but…. I’m here, and this is what I’m doing.  Needing assignments as a writer, blogger, not sure how to market self or if I should even “market” self at all.  Just keep writing, I tell myself.  Soon, drive… to Olivet and maybe somewhere else, along Guerneville Road.  Something.  Long as I see vineyards, life in Eartha and around Earth, soil, under sky and I smell what Sonoma County has for a writer like me.

Changing habits, today, as I wrote earlier.  Trying new approaches, new words and sights, new perspectives.  Feeling panic and urgency about me, presently.  Keep self moving, tirelessly as it should be.  Not sure I have time to change… may just go out like this, in my basketball shorts and Deschutes Brewing ’t’.  Whatever I do is what I do, what I choose.  Health, life, living wildly and more passionately and obsessively for positive pulse and progression than I ever have.

Today… oh today.  Today is something, but what.  I feel myself getting anxious and panicking a bit, and this is something I’m trying to change but how precisely to go ‘bout it—  Don’t care.  To not care is to be free, and from that a writer creates..  Couple more words then for my drive where I’ll take pictures of vines, and do just that.  Putting everything onto this blog.  Books come second, I realize.  And, all posted for free.  Money will come.  I mean, I hope.  But for now, the bottled ox is here, sharing his life and observations, tales and pages from the minute he’s in, his very breath, the immediate immediacy of it all.

Outside calling at me, begging me to capture everything it has, and has for me.  It’s all for me, for us, readers.  I’m widely realizing this, now.  I can see that the only block or barrier is this author.  Yes, me.  Not all times, but many of them.  I stay more than just “productive”.  And anymore, I dislike that word like I do ‘content’ when referencing what’s posted to a blog.  It’s more than just content.  It’s me, my life, my pages, with wine, with my babies… keeping self healthy, alive for my babies.  It’s not filler, it’s not content… it’s breath, life, my circulation and beat.  MY, beat.  No one else’s is like this.  From when I woke this morning and wouldn’t let self go back to sleep, to when I hear Jackie upstairs just waking and wanting me up there to talk to and see what he did with his room, arranging cars a certain way on the floor to make a creative formation and shape…. Not just content.  ME.  My beat.

I’m thinking…

About what.

Photography.  Writing what I shoot, from it, within it.  The vineyard or my children, a sun-thrown shadow, a minute, wine in a glass.  Something.  People… more and more people are what the most fascinate and invigorate this write to page.  So maybe that’s…. No, nothing I didn’t already know.  But, shoot everything.  With phone and with the only camera I own, the one Mom and Dad bought me not too many years ago as a gift.  Everything needs to be captured.  Artistically, that’s more than healthy.  That’s more than just a creative attempt or actuation of and in present.  Time isn’t waiting for me, for anything I do.  So no more thinking of doing anything.  Only motion, the forward.  I present self with opportunity and depend on no one for any invitations.

Watching each of my little beats get bigger, say new words and express new expressions, tell me something about their day or just voice some opinion, reminds me of that goddamn clock.  Now, 11:45.  Near middle of day… pictures to be taken.  Or, I could use the ones in the camera I haven’t touched, or write again about ones I already have… Make a choice, Mike.  I tell myself.  Repeatedly in a ravenous repeat, till I get it.

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mikemadigan

Writer/Blogger - bottledaux.com

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