wrapped patch

So I’ve done it.  This is my only blog.  Now, after some unintended, unANTICIPATED, pushes today, in this 95+ weather, aggravated, it has a “purpose” [after so many people passing have to me posed, “What’s the purpose of your blog?”], this log of the Bottled Ox.  Write till I’m in that office, till I’m out of the proverbial bottle.  Free.  So, is this still a “wine blog?” One retort, no.  Other, yes, insofar as I sip while scribbling, as you know.  OR, tipsy typing.  In this weather, IPA, only.  Not in any mood for wine.  The heat, hurting, “making me sick” like that one marketing moron I was working with in 2010’s brutal summer hours said, in his grungy oversized office.

Interesting, I’m seeing, this new “purpose.” But it’s not that new.  At all.  I’ve always targeted Artistic Autonomy.  Ever since Mr. Sullivan’s Creative Writing class, my senior year [high school].  Just think the symbolism is unexpectedly relevant.  The Ox, fighting to escape the bottle.  So, when I do, will I shut down bx?  Don’t know.  Probably not.  Am I saying that I WON’T close it at ’12’s end, now, from this revelation?  That’s exactly what I’m saying.  “But you changed your mind,” someone could say, some Napa critic, or a wine pig from either side of the mountains.  “Yeah, and?” I fire back.  I know what I’m doing, hard to believe.

Beer 1, terminated.  Want to try one of the bottles Lacey me gifted.  Still haven’t printed those pieces from yesterday.  And haven’t typed today’s, yet.  Another attribute upon which I want to build here on bottledaux: the Writing process, struggle.  Why I carry the mini-Mead to the tasting Room, so I can log happenings away from chair.  Writing, its assumption, brings no solution.  Or at least it shouldn’t.  At least for me.  I don’t ever want to be complacent, or even satisfied.  Momentarily please, fine.  But I don’t ever want to see the struggle as squelched.

Day job, verse.  Then, report to journal.  At least that’s one template.  Either way, keep writing.  All I want to do.  And at my age, can’t afford to change mind.  And the Self-published projects, with actual pages, prolonged release.  Just can’t afford copies, currently.  Will still contribute to their weight, though.  Quite consistently.  In fact, after this entry, or “post,” I’ll be adding to the 1,000+ from this day’s events.  Tomorrow, in the tasting Room, going to log everything.  EV.  ER.  Y.  THING.  Even how many glass racks I dry.  Or “buff.” Hate that word, loudly.  Can’t remember where I’m placed tomorrow.  Where in the winery’s hospitality web, specifically.

Want to do some more research on spots I want to visit.  But all I can do, a web search, sadly.  So, I can hear someone, the skeptic, that same clown that asks “What’s your blog about?”, say “What would you write there?” I have no idea.  I’d bring the notebook, and find out.  Just see what happens, like Kelly would.  So I, now, am definitely thinking about the life of this blog, where all my eggs lay.  What if I’m in my office next month, or even in 90 days?  I know, don’t get ahead of yourself, Mike.  But all writers wonder that, when they’ll be able to live from, BY, their pen.  And I am no different, even by a molecule.  I always wonder that.  Honestly, I wake thinking about it; I fall to sleep in its idealistic trips.  So, if anything, I’m just a Writer.

So, I’m watching another show on BRAVO, where some jape owns their own business, has their own office.  And in this specific context, I truly am speechless.  Watching, thinking how I shouldn’t feel how I do, but rather try to learn from their ways.  This one woman, a freelance writer/blogger, has a slew of qualities that I should emulate.  But on the other hand, there’s more about her I find repulsive, somewhat sad actually.  Chilly, here in the house.  I’m at peace with my outdoor exposure for the day.  No need to go past that door, again.  But, still would like another beer.  Need one, to keep these types tussling.


10:26pm.  Night’s cap.  Still no wine.  But, I’m thinking about my project with Katie.  Texted her earlier, about a possible Syrah effort.  But we’ll see.  I love Syrah because of how underrated it is, how it’s overshadowed by varietals like Cab Sauv.  Even Sauv Blanc, in some cases.  Off to song, revived.  Alive, tried.




1000 Words, Road A.M. [stabilized]

Wasn’t going to bring laptop, but, as I stated in a note I took this morning, I rarely get around to transferring the writing, just ‘cause of my writing style–it being so fast, in-the- moment, streamed.  Time, according to this device, 8:51a.  Knew I wasn’t going to get here at 8:30, as I wanted to, or usually shoot for, since I made coffee at home.  Two strong cups, still swimming in my system.  So, hoped for 8:40a, but was held up by a bike race here in AV, all along Chalk Hill.  Lucky me.  Listening to Thievery, as always, with window down.  Thinking about day ahead, and this Sunday (my home tasting, Wine/varietal analysis).  Thinking I’m only going to do 1 wine.  And the varietal?  Probably Syrah, as I think it’s the most fun to taste, composition-wise.

Quite pleased with the stills I yesterday shot in Sonoma’s Valley.  The music stopped spilling through my phone.  Why does it always do that here, on 128’s side.  May be a signal issue.  Just noticed some vineyard workers to my left, and up the embankment, walking rows of a vineyard.  Never noticed there was one up there.  Should have known…  There’re vines all around me, why I love writing here every Saturday, Sunday so early.  Today, I’m betting, quite busy at AV Winery.  Can’t wait for the tours, the characters, their reactions to the wines, how they describe them.  Okay, music not working on phone, will play songs here on monster…


8:59a.  51 minutes left to Self, for the page.  Not sure where to go with this session, except to tell you how I can’t wait for Artistic Autonomy.  That’s towards what I’m writing.  It’ll be better for, certainly me, but more so Jack.  I won’t be gone 8 hours, 8+, five days/week.  And Self-publishing, I’m holding back for now.  Doesn’t mean I’m going to halt in allocating pages to this book idea, I’m merely holding off the actual publishing of the work.  Don’t think it’d be responsible to spend that much money on something I may not have adequate time to sell.  So what will I sell, in terms of written works?  Self.  I’ll be the product, the brand.  Why would someone want to purchase me?  Don’t have an answer for you.  Just have to put all channels of my heart into these syllables, and KNOW I’m doing the right thing.

Need new business cards.  Soon, AGAIN.  Luckily, I still have well over 100 to last me a bit.  Oh, just remembered I have a Cabernet at home I could use for Sunday’s analysis.  Completely forgot about that bottle.  That saves me some currency, in my evaporating balance.  Love the song that now plays.  Makes me think of France, Paris, traveling.  Can only imagine the sights that Mom and Dad are capturing, as I type here on the unpaved earth, counting down minutes before I have to “host” people on tours.  I love what I do, now.  But, everyone knows what I really want.  And, being only 17 days from 33, I continue to deteriorate into an impatient dust storm.  But, I’ll write my way through it.  And, I stall to say, this blog will help.  I can immediately release my reactionary prose, verse.  But, there is a deadline.  12/31/2012, 11:59pm.  After that, I don’t know.  Before that date, I will have my Autonomy.  My office.  My crafted Now.

Disappointed I didn’t wake the other morning at 6:20a as I targeted.  But, this morning redeems.  Love this cold air sneaking into this dirty cabin.  When was the last time I had this mini-tank washed?  Just had a flashback of my Literary Lunches on 1st & Main, with this current song, “Illusion (Rollercone Remix)” from the Hôtel Costes 5 Album, or one of the versions, I don’t know.  Either way, I remember having my second mocha, typing angrily, racing to soak into every drop of that 60-minute freedom injection.  Isn’t that more or less what I’m doing now, here in the XA?  Somewhat.  From here, I go to a beautiful winery.  From the Roasting Company, I always returned to a malignantly toxic, vile, office, surround by wine industry snitches and opportunists.  Topic next …


Kelly, recently went to NYC, I was writing the other night.  Her first time on the East Coast, in Manhattan.  The biggest break for her as an Artist.  A gallery caught news of her odd color blends, blurred images, visual voice.  A couple galleries, hosting a collective showing, paid for her flight, hotel accommodations.  Interesting writing about this character, being envious of her talent, progression, travels.  Can’t be annoyed by this paginated presence.  She, I feel, will carry me to what my work needs, that perpetual mobility.  Can’t afford to give her a book yet, with all those paper and copy costs, so she’ll have to settle for a stationary situation on these blog screens.  Sorry, Kelly..

Nearing my thousand.  That was quick.  9:21am.  Time passing cruelly, just like at that Roasting Co, with its airborne coffee essences, walled paintings, view of the 1st & Main intersection, passing characters [tourist, local].  You know what, giving Self till 9:30a, then stopping, cruising over to the Jimtown Store.  Maybe I’ll treat Self to one of those Chicken Salad Sandwiches.  Truck just pulled in behind, to left of XA, only to speed off obnoxiously, using the dirt as annoyance artillery, attaching to air.  Not bothered, only motivated to faster finish.  Back to the paper vs blog issue, just thought: Yes, as I’ve so many times before noted, anyone can write a blog.  BUT, there is only one ME; only one of my voice, style, page presence/persistence.  Just as there are so many musicians out there: So many have demo tapes, indi albums, singles, EP’s, what have… but it’s the ones with unique flight that reverberate with populace, stay in minds, and INSPIRE.  So yes, there are other Literary bloggers, or just writers with blogs.  But they don’t, can’t, NEVER will write like Madigan, Mike.

9:27a.  Over 1k, typed.  No troublesome transfer.  Should get on road a minute or two early to JTown, enjoy more air in this cluttered cabin.  Need that car wash, soon.  Need a nice mobile office.  Just had bikers pass, laughing, one of them saying “I’m getting tired, thinking of that wine already!” The other biker, his right, laughing.  Now, me, leaving.  Love the AM session, almost as much I infatuate with Kelly’s corner.


Taking a break from writing in the idea project.  Just counted Wine Biz stash.  And, much to my most pleasant of moment gifts, I have over $1,000, even with my recent dips.  Hiding it far away from my instant reach, so you know.  All I’m going to say on that.  Need another cup of coffee, I realize, listening to this French Café channel.  Have to pay a couple bills, too.  One of which is that moronic cell phone ticket a very bored Santa Rosa cop gave me a few weeks back.  Oh, need to charge camera for pics today.  If I can’t go on vacation, travel like Mom and Dad, I can certainly play the role of a tourist here in my near zone; capture the flowering vines, the impatient buds.  Wine Country, where many vacation, is where I live, work, play.  Taking advantage, today.

Uploading some pictures I took yesterday, and over the past few days, some from last week.  Should I use the stash for a camera?  NO! … Already entertained that direction, and I’m not blowing my hard-earned accumulation, to get me closer to Artistic Autonomy, on some petty device.  Already have camera equipment, and I’ll work, CREATE, with what I have already, thank you.

Not really into the songs of this station.  Need be more Artist-specific.  And, this reminds me of work.  Love where I’m giging, at Lancaster, but this is my day, completely to Self, my Art.  Need this instant scene unique…  Changing dial…  Much better, with Morcheeba.  Just checked account balance.  A touch over $400 to last me till next check.  Minus this bloody ticket, I’ll be just over $200.  If I divide by 10 days, I should be fine.  But, no coffee, and least from that corporate bean hut.  And, I need a very conservative budget for the Wine flight analysis I’m to do Sunday night, here in my home office.  Budgeting $60 for that activity.  Let’s say, less than $20 for an SB, $20 for a Syrah, and $20 Cabernet.  But then, tax.  Should I increase to $80?  No, that’d be irresponsible.  Maybe I should buy today, with my industry discount, instead of within a store’s strictures.

(5/10/12, Thursday)

With, Out

9:55a.  Early Clock-in.  Off to novel…

1432 words, 3 pages.  Logged.  Productive morning.  Time, now, 11am.  One hours left in sitting, just like the Lit Lunches in Napa.  Wined instrumentals playing, but they’re tainted a bit by the coffee shop’s speakers.  That acoustic whinny nonsense they deem musical.  Sorry.  Just hate when my moments are disrupted, are less than perfect.  [Who’s whinny?]  Didn’t taste any wine yesterday as I’d hoped.  But that’s fine.  Probably will tomorrow night with Mom and Dad.  Oh, I mean tonight.  What the rest of the day holds, have no idea.  Think the air conditioning’s breathing on me again.  Mocha almost gone.  My sitting’s deteriorating.  Not sure what to convey to page, now.  Still feel last night’s run.  Tired.  Coupled with my early rise this AM, I may need some siesta later, of some length.

Standalone’s, for performing, collecting in my new Comp Book.  Plan on reading within the next couple weeks, once I solidify and have practices a spoken word set.  Always with poetry.  With-with…  Thinking four pieces.  Or 3, as I haven’t performed in some time.  Again, I want it to be musical. Of the instantaneous nature.  Written & edited in short spans.  Those are the pages I want to orate.  Moment-to-moment writing.  The bursts, blurbs.  Have to use the restroom, and don’t want to surrender my seat.  Again.  Have to push through it, no matter how painful.  With focus on the moment, as Mom urges.  This freedom, this Artistic Autonomy.  Me, this seat.  The music through the earphones.  How I’m not in a box anymore.  No more wine labor camp…  How I’m not intimidated.  How I wasn’t ever, when there.  How I’m Mentally Alive, more assured and Defiant than I’ve ever stood.

The shop is crowding, quick.  Maybe I should leave, return home.  Or write in my car for a bit, by that lake.  Watch the ducks in their leisured struts.  More in the mood for verse now, anyway.  Done with the mocha.  Surprised how quick I’ve been this AM, considering…  Clocking out.  Another sip.  One more.  Bye, mocha, mocha manuscripts.  Where are my keys?  Oh…

5:13p.  Home.  Writing till dinner.  Have till 6.  Well, giving Self till then.  Was just having one of those what-should-I-write moments.  Can’t afford it, I realize.  Hate it when I read something from Capote, or King, Updike, Shakur, Plath, Poe, whomever, and think “I should do something like that.  Or, worse, “I should write like that.” Can’t second guess mySelf, like Katie said.  Just going to write my moments.  And I know not all will want to read.  Fine with me.  Don’t really care if anyone does.  Well, that’s not entirely true.  I do have to eat, at some point, no?  I just engage in sessions like this, with this tone especially, to let other writers know it’s okay to write just to write, or to stay in the habit of writing by keeping WITH the typing, staying in the chair.  While sipping Cab, Merlot or whatever wine touches my palate tonight, there need be scribbles.  Just the mood I’m in.  My inner-Hemingway’s out.

2/10/12, Friday … NewMike [NObox]

Their criteria vs. Mine

“They” could be anyone.  But what is my bottom line?  Only at this age 32/33 do I know, and understand it.  Especially after seeing last night’s film.  Freedom.  That Artistic Autonomy.  So beautiful.  Right now, the rain falls loud, ferocious.  It’s talking to me, directly.  Non-artists won’t understand.  Not my problem.  Not much traffic today in the tasting Room.  Didn’t bother me a bit, as I had the invitation to write, write, write…

Looking out that opening, provided by the tasting Room’s sliding door, I thought about this log, the “blog” it provides.  Don’t worry, I’ll finish what I started in bottledaux.  But, I want to write books.  So, I made a point of not forgetting to print 3 more pages towards the inaugural novel.  In reading a couple of its paragraphs just a moment ago, I saw that it seems to be too stationary, which could be jewel or jaundice, depending on how the story evolves.  Need to develop Kelly a bit more, obviously.

Another detail from last night’s film that shook me was the lack of technology’s presence with the writer character.  He carried around a manuscript, at one point seen on a bed at his holiday’s lodging, marking his pages with pen.  That’s another change I want to see with my Self, why I’m auditing this blog’s foothold: more pen to paper, if I’m a real writer.  We all know what Capote said about typing, how it’s not writing at all.  Me, of the exact same thought strain.  So, with pages I print, I’ll write over them.  It’s as though I’m re-writing while keeping in tact what I’ve already written.  How that’s possible, I’m not sure.  And I don’t have time to overthink this, reader.  It’s due quite soon.  You know what, I’ll give mySelf 1 extension.  April 1st, 2012.  When the novel gets sent to…wherever.  Everywhere.  Publishers, editors, agents, politicians, chickens, zebra, Eskimos, Chicagoans.  Tomorrow’s Lit Lunch, all pen2paper.  That’s what the rain wants.  Leaving the computer here at home, but I’m not sure that’s what I want.  What I want doesn’t matter though.  My criteria, utterly irrelevant.  What the book needs, what the Craft demands is what tidals into lead priority.

January 22 2012, Sunday (Does that date look funny to you?)