sip secRet

[6/26]  Today, over 1000 words to projects, and LOADS of spoken word.  I feel.. more than simply Artistic.  I’m Alive.  Creative.  I feel ME.  Sipping the beer I bought last night.  IPA, of course.  Spent quite a bit of time today with little Kerouac, wrote at his side.  He helped today with everything, especially when he stared, smiled, suggesting, “Just play, Dad.  Stop worrying so much and just write!” No run yesterday or today, but I wrote, listened to music.  And more importantly, wrote my own music.  My file of poems, to see contribution 2nite.  Not sure when I’ll have recitals booked, but they’ll be there.  In that manilla, launch-ready.  Can’t believe how fast I’m typing right now.  Never felt this invincible on page before.  And yes, I intentionally used that word.  Invincible.

Pictures over the past couple days with which I haven’t done anything.. just enjoying.  Maybe that’s what they’re for; not for blog, of Facecrook.. just for ME.  Need a break, get snack downstairs.  Writers, we’re crazy to the point of writing in starvation.  In fact, many of us will write ESPECIALLY when starved, hypoglycemic, delirious, loopy.  Not me, however.  I’ll compose from espresso’s throws, and when a little buzzed (or further, especially with a courageous Cabernet, or Pinot), but not with empty core.

11:07pm.  Closing frames from today’s stray.  Somewhat surprised at how much verse I put into the little book.  I’ll transfer tomorrow, early morning before work.  Setting alarm for 5:15am.  Want 1000 before Jackie wakes.  Had thoughts today of tasting Room fiction, and I know just how I’d approach page with such guns loaded.  You walk in, always, not knowing what’ll walk through those front doors.  Something from that regard makes each day in the Room, behind that counter, an adventure unlike other professions.  Hoping tomorrow gives me more characters than I’m expecting to have to handle.  Need sleep.  Strolling path to night’s visions entertaining flight.  Navigating, like Dad.  Not a jet, per se, but some craft winged.  I’ll confine it to page, of course, as I’m much too afraid to do what he, Dad, does.  But, I’m building, deconstructing, blending, separating, then re-unionizing those images again…

Character takes flight to Indonesia, on a research assignment for travel company…

No, that won’t work.  “Travel company?” What’s that?  I’ll have to rest on this envisaged mess.  But travel, a necessity for me, my material.  Bona …

6/27/12.  Tired of beginning each entry with date.  Have to find a way, somehow, to Create around those numbers.  In main tasting Room for day’s most.  Went to “industry” “mixer” at Kaz tonight.  Was only there for an hour, but it felt incredible to be back.  Back with my other family.  And every time I’m around Kazzy, I’m more antagonized to be crazily Artistic.  Be true to my Self, as he once told me.  Had a couple new wines tonight that threw me into even more fantasy.  Being there, at my brother’s winery, almost more than I could handle in way of separatist Creative straights.  Questioned my spoken word efforts at one point, today, while pacing back and forth in Kunde’s Room.  Well, walking by that Kaz koy pond, sipping Valley of the Moon Sangiovese Rosé with two new Kunde confreres, ordered I continue.  In such passing, I’m on track 8 of 14 targeted.  Another thought streaming through my consciousness streams during shift: my Wine Bar.  Think what spawned such were the Wine Bar beats I heard while driving to shift.  Had to be.  All under nonaligned winds in wine’s tine.

Further into eve, can’t help but think about the impact of wine in my current current.  Like that new Tempranillo I discovered, only hours ago.  DO I want to produce one?  No.  And I didn’t think that way when sipping, I just enjoyed.  No way that can be wrong.  BUT, did think of the SB, Syrah, Cab that’ll one day be on the whoso cellars tasting sheet.  Just as my friend Ed is imminently launching his own label, so do I.  NEW PROJECT: $1/day, at least.  Will periodically let you know where I am in the gathering.  What are these enveloped bills for?  My wine label?  Self-publishing?  Both?  No idea, as always.  Maybe I should start having an idea.  Like that article I read, where chapbooks are often used to “fund tours,” maybe I should put these stray 1’s into envelopes for sakes of funding all wishes.  One of those wishes being.. my winery.  Sipping one of the double IPA’s with which I’ve been infatuated over the past few nights.  Probably from the elevated temperatures from today.  Was somewhat shocked how hot it actually stopped, on whatever gauge I was checking.

habitual anchor

Wrote a sovereign piece today.  3 pages, 1000+ words.  To book project.  Or, “idea,” really.  No wine this night.  As tired as I sit here, I’m planning on a late session, and early rise session.  J. Barelycorn’s ways, still very much on mind.  So thankful for the cooled atmosphere on Sonoma’s side.  The vines are too, I’d imagine.  Finishing a verse in Comp, and plan on more verse–mostly verse, actually–tonight, while under sheets.  Want to dive deeper into fictitious frames, though…

Thinking of tasting Rooms, the different shapes they take.  Not entirely sure what to do with these thoughts, so I think of characters I’ve met in different Rooms; the different shapes they take; attitudes, habits, pet peeves.  The different appearances a counter, or bar, can present to a visitor.  I love the symbol of a bar, what both sides represent, how wine’s present in different forms on those two sides.  “Wine education,” just find that humorous.  Not sure why.  Sounds so self-elevating, indulgent, to me.  The tasting Room, theoretically, entails openness, exploration, a certain innocence.  Why is it elementally and atmospherically re-blended in so many cases?  Not what wine should be.  BUT, it offers much needed material for this penner.

8:19pm.  Not a bad day for writing.  Glad I printed the day’s 3 pages.  Finally.  Hope to stay in that habit.  Using the laptop as more of a typewriter.

 

6/19 – 7:37am.  Only Comp Book, today.  No typing, I won’t allow it.  Only song, stream-of-conscious diarist rhyming.  What I’ll speak into the mic, on stage, in some café.  Woke feeling incredibly Artful, Musical.  So, only song.  Like 2Pac, 3 tracks due by day’s end.  AT LEAST.  Coffee cooking downstairs.  No coffee brothel visit, except to get Alice her hot chocolate.  Want those 14 track for the album gathered by end of this week.  And I want to keep collecting.  As an Artist, I want my pieces gathered into their own little legions.  Swarms, feel a better term.  Sometimes, most times, I’m pushed to write away from wine.  This music, MY music, I want to be me, and if wine’s part of it, then so be.  But the priority is capturing what’s in my head at the time.  Like right now, my desk’s surface stands covered in clutter.  First couple sips, ready to write.  Starting Self here, in this entry…  “Situate my sense in a stimulating sarcophagus, no retreat, my body’s just..”

NOTE: go through winery notes in little pages

5/6/12: Album/Book Co-ferment

Clocking in, 8:35a, on 128’s side.  Five minutes late, but I’ll let it go this time.  Wasn’t going to bring laptop, after posting over, well over 1000 words to blog last night, and not getting one “Like.” It’s my fault, completely.  Shouldn’t be throwing that much “product” away, into a blog.  That should have gone into a book.  In fact, after this check-in session, I’m going straight to my latest book effort.  Going to blend in a little of BOOK1, here on desk top.

Lots of bikers out today, cycling up hill, eventually to drop into Alexander Valley’s heart.  Can’t let mySelf stop talking–I  mean writing.  This mocha, really working.  Morcheeba playing through phone.  Spent close to two minutes getting music cued through that evil little tech piece.  So, would have clocked in earlier.

New schedule at AV Winery, having Thursdays & Fridays off.  Much better having two days of rest, WRITING, adhered.  An even more sizable cyclist squadron passes.  Today should be hot, giving the leaves, vines, eventual 2012 fruit more rudder.

8:41am.  Just opened BOOK1.  See some passages that I could use for this latest book effort.  With my “branding,” coupled with the reality of Self-publishing [in other words, me paying for everything from paper to binding to all else…] keeping all my releases under 100 pages.  But over 50.  And, I want every release to contain between 40-50k words of content.  That’s what I’m thinking, right now.  And I know I keep saying ‘I need to get serious about releasing writing beyond these blogs’.  But this is different.  I want to rebel against the expectation that I’m going to “blog” something. [And I didn’t know “blog” was a commonly accepted verb…  Just my point: what social media, the immediacy of the internet, wine’s greedy INDUSTRY, and bloggers (those without conviction, confidence to Self-publish actual pages) have done to language.]  I want to be seen as one always releasing publications, all Self-funded, sold.  Meaning, all consumer direct.  Like painters, other Artists.  Like Kelly.

Beyond what I told mySelf I’d do, in terms of word count.  No matter.  Well, actually it does, as this is all being “posted” to my “blog.” It’s fine, I keep telling Self.  I want to share these moments, with those willing to read them; with those who actually READ.  More cyclists.  Never seen this many on a weekend morning before.  This has to be suggesting…  What?  That I need to be outside; That I need to be mobile; That I need to escape; That my writing needs to escape [DEFINITELY]; That I need to be truer to Self, as Kaz suggested; That I need to…  WHAT?

My music stopped.  Ugh, now I need to remedy the stall, which will eat into my typing time.  Why I can’t just enjoy the quiet, this new office spot of mine, here on 128’s side, I don’t know.  Maybe these cyclists are telling me  I need to drive around, look for another spot.  Okay, now the quiet’s getting to me…

swirling track

Why do I love Sonoma Valley?  Places like the Vineyards Inn.  A wine location, a place to just get together with a good friend, and enjoy discussion, company.  Met with a friend of mine, Miguel, to talk about everything from wine, to writing and publishing, to Life in “wine country,” to Artistic integrity in the business world.  He had a Sauv Blanc, me a Cab.  I was romanced by the layout of VI, probably ‘cause I haven’t been in a while.  During today’s frequent, Miguel and I also talked about how difficult it is to make it in the writing world.  Finally someone who understands the scribe’s struggle.  And, while sipping my AV selection from their list, I thought of what wine does to those with appreciation for words written.  The bottled magic intensifies the adoration, speaking for Self.  Sure my brother Miguel would agree.  And the conversation, what novels, and books of other genres necessitate.

Back home, little Kerouac sings his newer songs to me.  Maybe he wants to collaborate.  It’s possible that this little character is his own varietal.  Everyone says he looks like me, but I have to disagree.  Surely, his own entity.  One singular, previously undiscovered.  And, this harmonizing son, Mr. Jackie, his own story, script.  Tonight, tasting another Cab, while furiously frolicking in these Comp Book’s sheets.  Didn’t get around to buying some Syrahs, as I’d conspired.  Am I familiar with tonight’s bottle?  A bit, yes.  And I’m leaving the AVA, producer and vintage away from this entry, intentionally.  I’m going to address the interpretation of this Sonoma Valley Cabernet; It’s voice, character.  First, it’s shy.  Well, either so, or intentionally withheld.  It wants me to follow the smoky berries to it maze finish.

A tad tired, as I’ve already session’d far past 1000 [words] for day.  But the Cab capsules me in colored courage.  Still need to print pages, but I’m comfortable.  May have conveyed such dilemma, predicament, before.  Topic next…  Work tomorrow.  Tours, tasting Room, possible library tasting.  Need more unfamiliar wines in this notebook.  Travel would bring that, but I have to exercise patience.  Life story, for this writer, anyway.  These barreled writings, ordering me to release them.  Bottle them into a book.  But after my talk with Miguel today, addressing everything from paper costs publication trends, I need tell the sentences to tightly sit; be patient with ME.  Sonoma Valley’s vines, budding–  Ready for eruption…  My books, equally.

9:48pm.  The wine, now, telling me to leave the page, walk away from session.  I don’t agree.  Is that bad?  Why would this be going through my head, now?  Especially after the discussion I had at Vineyards Inn, completely wrapped in writing.  Why would this wine advise something so awful?  Probably just in my head.  I’m translating the character wrong.  More sips…

Staying in chair.  This Cab, whose fruit itself houses just down the road, in valley’s heart, concedes it’s toying with me, testing me as a penner.  I’m just listing odd descriptors at this point, anyway.  Letting it win–  Oak’d smoke rope, black cherry ghost; illusionary flavor fog, tantalizing tannic tornado; cushioned night spice, rustic raspberry romance; alliteratively tangible taste illusion.  I’ll toy with her, returning.  Wine escape, for ink’s sake.

[4/6/12, Friday]

journal, 1/9/2012 – Monday Manuscript

Wrote the article yesterday, on the slow season’s impact on wineries of varying sizes.  Have yet to edit it.  Was going to today, during my Lit Lunch, but I decided to stay in the office with my lunch, scribble on my new legal pad’s yellow sheets.  The last time I do that, ever.  Nothing done, not a single beneficial step in writing.  Mistake, total.  Tomorrow, back to habits artistic.  I don’t care how hungry I am.  Time, now, 10p, and I’m just sitting to a page.  Unacceptable.  Topic next…

Do I have Creative A.D.D.?  Really, do I?  Starting a project only to not finish, distracted by another.  Winemakers have no such luxury.  Their Creative process is sequentiality epitomized in ways I still have yet to fully appreciate.  It’s not allowed, tangents or distraction.  If they follow such, their goals, projects, die, horribly.  So, with this sitting, this tardy typing, I’m enacting a new practice.  Not going to talk about it, just demonstrate, execute.  Bed in 26 mins, and even then, I’ll be struggling to make up for today, crawling to 1k.

No wine tonight.  Went to gym, bla bla bla…  Not worth writing.  What I am going to institute is a deadline.  One ferociously firm.  Between now and Friday, there will be three stand alone pieces written.  All meant for submission.  1000+ words.  Fiction, Creative Non-Fiction.  The Bottled Ox, still in containment, because of his own ways.  It’s stopped.  Now.  As Mom said, “At this point, it’s all or nothing.” Like Katie instructed, “Don’t second-guess yourself.” And Dad, “Distractions are death to your goal.” Mr. Capote started with shorts, and, quite frankly, short works, Fiction and non, appear more conducive to my thought span, my relishing of moments brief, rushed.  That ever-invaluable consciousness spate the imbibes my lines.

Wine, my wine.  Well, Katie’s and mine, still going through ML.  Katie informed me that she did taste it, and it’s advancing well, deliciously.  She mentioned possibly changing the barrel, for the next six months of maturing.  I completely agree with my young professor, but would like to give it another taste before we do.  She’s incredibly busy, so I don’t know how I’ll be able to get into the facility, with her present, to make that happen.  Maybe she could leave a thief behind, and a glass.  I’ll text her tomorrow, see what she says.

Need to read more of this winemaking book Professor K bought me for xmas.  You know what, I’m putting it in my bag, now…  There, ready to study tomorrow, on my breaks, or between job duties.  Should probably get ready for bed, put this laptop into the ever-present-with-author black collegiate bag.  Is it collegiate, scholarly?  I don’t know, but it’s always with me.  And if people every wonder, “What’s he writing?” Or, “What’s he writing about?” They shouldn’t care.  It shouldn’t matter.  Just know that I’m ALWAYS writing, about everyone, everything.   But there needs to be projects, deadlines.  Fruition, somewhere.  Don’t worry, wonderers.  The stand-alone’s will speak, soon; see a publication’s selective sheets.