Tag: bottledaux.com

autre

Portrayal Gray

7/9/13. 3PAGES done. Just dabbled in spoken word, verse. But I’m blocked. Think by Self. Maybe I’m expecting too much writing from Self. Now, searching for new songs to motivate the writer on his run. Want 10 miles, so horribly. Right now, too hot. Hoping 5:30p, or later. Maybe after Jackie goes down. Just as the sun begins its retirement.

Think I’m getting a little stir crazy, from being in all day. Stay calm, don’t spin yourSelf, writer. Get a couple songs, suit up, stretch, then sprint. Yes, into the heat. You’ll be fine. And spill out that frappuccino!

7:13pm. Only did 3 of the ten miles. All I could do. WAS too hot. And I think the caffeine was fading, so I literally was mid-crash when beginning run. Conspiring to wake early again, before 5:30a. Going to launch from house. Thought about doing a run in Howarth Park, by the lake like Carmen and I’ve done once, but I want simplicity. The drive there, although short, would only complicate effort.

Sipping my third sparkling berry water. No Diet Coke with dinner, as I thought I might have. And certainly no wine. This water, just as I like it.. from freezer, with iced torpedo in center, cooling contents. Quite a bit done 2day, with the writing. By retreat’s end: 2 chapbooks. Bound, ready to sell– well, at least one bound, vend-ready.

In bed by 10:15 tonight. Want, NEED, loads of sleep. Will be needed if I’m to follow through with this latest early run goal. Not looking to do 10 miles, just going to run for 45 minutes, see what I can achieve in that bracket, then see if I want to run a little more. And for my Sunday’s remainder.. not sure. Should really get a jump on my lectures.. know I keep saying that. But it’s been slipping my mind, for some reason. Not sure why, especially when I’m immensely excited about these authors.

= one thing about English 5 section.. make sure students understand that the Author is not always revealing something about themselves, directly, but possibly how they see people around them, and/or Humanity itSelf

Sitting here in kitchen’s nook, enjoying my sparkling water and snack [these ranch-flavored crispy veggie straws, which are indescribably tasty], I’m realizing that my goal should be 1 book. The 59-page project, for retreat. And before it’s over.. 1 copy sold. To anyone. Mom, Katie, Dad, Carmen, Mindy.. I don’t care. Just want 1 sold. Then, start the pedagogy blog. See where it goes. Stick to 3PAGES a day. Have to make this break work for me. May not have another for a while.

In terms of “going out,” possibly another Gatsby night– well, I don’t have any planned, nor do I see or know of any on horizon, so I can’t comment. Well, sure I can. I don’t want to “go out.” What would that do for me, directly or indirectly? Much as I try to convince mySelf I’ll take notes, gather characters, observations, it’d be a waste, total. Going into Picasso mode, never detaching from Creative cave.

Not sure I want to wake so early, tomorrow. But would that be the kind of Newness I need? 5:20am it’s set for. What should I do, what should I do… I’m overthinking, as I always do, have done. Think I’m going a bit mad, after all I’ve today written, in these condo walls. On the Gatsby note, maybe I can have one here in home.. open some really nice wine, put on some music, and just scribble verse, spoken word songs. Prose wouldn’t suit such a night. There, then. Settled. [10:38pm]

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Lower Lighted

9:41pm. Only committed to blog post this eve. This morning’s running arrangements didn’t transpire precisely as planned, but I adjusted, having an interval set I many not have otherwise benefited [from]. Long day behind main bar, which brings me to this ’09 single vineyard Cabernet, after what I enjoyed at Uncle Tim and Aunt Denise’s house, at the whim’d barbeque. But I’m not sure where to go from here, with the 3PAGE effort still unfinished. Maybe I shouldn’t let mySelf touch blog till I finish a day’s 3PAGES. Sounds practical..

Talking with Katie tonight, about winemaking, tannic management, her withholding certain secrets. I’m evermore interested. There could be something on the horizon for her and I. Can’t say. But it’s there. Beyond charged, electrified. Alive. Tasting my wines today, with Sam. Both tasted quite tasting Room worthy, as Sam put it. And, to my astonishment, the blend tasted better, more of character, than the Merlot. Couldn’t believe it, really. That’s why I want2makeWINE.. it constantly surprises the writer, one truly new to its world, house. Another sip, imaging Self away. 2Paris. With Hemingway, Ms. Stein, Pablo… Did I absorb enough when I was there? Just remember that one session, while Alice was asleep, me writing at our Room’s desk. Looking down at surrounding streets, dark. Waiting for morning caffeine.

What I’m listening to now, what I’d be listening to on a flight to Paris. Looking out the window, seeing nothing. Or on a bus, cross this country, sipping something similar2 this Cab. The exploration, curiosity quell.. what I need in writing well. These runs to which I’ve been committing, beneficial ignition. But I need to follow with impulse. So glad the TV’s off. It’s poison. Even/especially the “news.”

People afraid of my writing: You should be. I’m a Writer, restraining no inner-shove for scribble. If I’m ordered to target YOU, you’ll be cited. On line. Paginated. Is it ‘personal’? It could be. But it’d be what I was told 2do. By Craft. And I’ll be honest.. I love the fear that people voice, of US, Writers. And they should be afraid. Especially those in ‘the industry.” Can’t tell you how many times people have said to me, “Don’t put this on your blog,” or something of mirroring wrap. The blog is the last thing you should be afraid of, devil. IF you’re in fortunate enough to wind up in/on one of the book’s pages, you should hide. As that’ll never be ‘deleted’, or ‘taken down’.

Be warned, devil… I’m. A. WRITER.

The Cabernet, still not with me sitting serenely. Maybe I should have waited to IT open. Love these tracks, on this Pandora station. On vacation. Away, far. Paris, Vienna, Prague, Rome. Just away. Perfect for this ink, Comp Book. And this song, just what I need to hear. Want to stop typing, writing, just imagine, dream away day’s rest.

Spifflicating my own sense of sensibility with this overthinking. Just what I urged students NOT do. Time, just walking away from me.

Just as

she does.

Confusing me, endlessly. But that’s what’s keep the writer writing, what has the writing in its galactic flip.

(7/7/13)

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Triteness Averted

7/4/13. 10k results, I guess mildly satisfied. I’ll note the numbers later, but for now.. relaxing. Went into work at around 10:15a, I think. The Reserve Room, treating me quite nicely, actually. Couldn’t have asked for more from today. Well, I could have.. a taste, or ‘revisit’ as so many today said, of my wines.

Not attempting 3PAGES tonight. No energy for such task.. I know when it’s right, and tonight it simply is not. Too tired. At the beginning of the run this morning, I thought I was going to quit. But what would my son think? So I pressed on. Surprised I finished ahead of Carmen, as she’s a far better runner than the writer. I credit the two runners I met towards race’s end. One gentleman, whose name I didn’t catch. I said to him, “I’m going to follow you in.” “Okay, let’s go,” he said. Then, shortly after, with a half-mile to go, a lady about my age, Heidi, said “We’re almost there.. don’t be fooled by the 5k finish line, just keep running.” So I did. Surprised how good I did, but I still think I could have done better. And I, still immensely surprised I caught Carmen.

Celebrating here in home, sipping a Hoptimum, Sierra Nevada. May have a little red later, but not much. Want to do a short run tomorrow night, after work, with downed sun. If I can do what I did today, what else is the writer capable of? I’m just realizing. Sipping…

10:15pm. My time today: 48:52.9 total time, 7:53/mi avg. Not functioning well in this late hour, after this sparkling Mumms. No red. If I were to have that, I’d be flat. And this is why I don’t much like sipping & scribbling, or tipping and typing, anymore. After the last few days, of sober sentencing.. I’ve developed aversion to alcohol. Sipping last bubbling flute, currently. I’m sure the morning’s run and my no-lunch shift has something to do with, but I’m not regular Literary Self, presently. Eager for sparkling water. And run tomorrow, after work. Thinking another 3 mile sprint. Let’s see if I can get under 21 total minutes. Today, instilling nothing but confidence.

Still hear fireworks outside. Never understood this holiday, really. I mean, I do, that America’s Independence, from England, is heralded today, every year. But why do we observe with loud, illustrative explosives? And tonight on the news, of course a report. Like it was so different from last year.

Need some water. Tired, and still seemingly dehydrated a bit from the morning’s race. Against the advice of a guest on the patio today, who disclosed she also liked to run.. I’m going for 3-4 miles tomorrow. LIFE, 2short. And I’m pushing my vessel to brink. 4ever alive.

Beginning to not like any shakes of wine, these small production beers. Prefer this sparkling water, substance with only beneficial sustenance. Interesting, this development with me, wine. Not like its language, what is speaks to my functioning. Oh this sparkling water.. what I need. To see. Watching TV. Making me sick. Holding off till morning, for the coffee, what IT does to pages.. only ascension.

My prose, providing the pavonine; multi-shaded.

7/5. Didn’t like the way the sparkling made me feel last night. Nor the glass of wine I had at work, that Hoptimum I had right when I got home. Am I dismissing wine & beer, completely? Don’t like the control it strips, the energy it carves out. Something to think about. Not going to rush-write this morning. Will continue sitting tonight, to sparkling water. When I have more time, am not up against their clock.

Today: verse, poem. All day.

At lunch: photog’…

Tonight: light walk/jog; or jog then walk.

9:33pm. Didn’t have a chance to write much verse today, while behind counter. Not with that caliber crowd. BUT, did have chance in last 17 minutes of lunch half-hour to capture stills of clusters, leaves, rows. Ran over 3 miles, walked over 3 as well. Right knee, speaking slightly. Tomorrow, no running. Just realized, on walk back with Hillary, that today’s my 3rd straight, running. Writer needing break, 24 hours 4ward.

Met another character connected to Literary realm, today, right before we closed. Young lady from Sebastopol, with every breath, syllable in her speech euphonious. Hope she contacts me, as I need more writers around my Now. Well, don’t ‘need’, just intently, intensely, prefer.

3PAGESaDAY, restarting with tomorrow morning’s session, sitting with home coffee. No blog post, just contribution to 3PAGES. Looking at today’s pictures, reminded of spells in vineyard, between those rows.. how each cluster’s a different paragraph, later contributed to vintage’s book. Not a novel, but collection, just as I like2write.. our steps each other mirror. Poems, in each speech frame. Telling me that tonight’s need could only tower in poetry’s spree. Pen2paper, no type stripe–

Sipping one of the beers I bought last night. But slow. Ever slow. Don’t like the way the contents make me feel. Flavor carriage, only loved. But the effects, detested. Not getting to teaching blog tonight, either. Want my objectives simple, as they will be: blog, the poem. Done. Then the writer sleeps.

Should the writer shoot for another run, come morrow? Make it 4 straight days, then brake. An idea. But if this knee still to me speaks, no.

The bottle’s contents begin their ripples. Again, slow tilts. And the run’s song, increasing with volume. Thinking of Paris, what I want to write when there. On writing retreat, which takes off in 9 days, I want 1 project printed, sold. Running 30 copies. No more. Locking Self into this, so there’ll be no hemming and hawing. Also on retreat: look into past posts, old entries on blogs, and in those legal pads you–I mean ‘I’–kept while at the box. If my writing’s to involve Truth, or be stapled in such, I have to be nonlinear, exhaust all feasibles till I’m at Equilibrium. And people ask me, always, what that is.

I don’t know. I’ll let

you know when I’m

there.

These pictures today, telling me more, even though I’m quite far from this row, these little reciting clusters. They don’t fear reaction, observation.. they’re just there, quite boldly in sun. Envy them, what they embody, what they say, Self-publish. Wish I could be like them. They’re truly, Truthfully, NATURALLY Artistic. More than this penner will EVER be. But I can still learn from them, can’t I?

My wines, HAVE to be tasted tomorrow. So no vineyard walks at lunch. Taking thief, going into cave’s right channel, tasting from both barrels, a couple times. Should free some space, tomorrow morning, on phone so I can film my session. Still very much in mode of ‘capture everything’. That’s the only way I’l get to office. -9:59pm

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July Writing, Racing, Rotating

Post author By mikemadigan
Post date July 4, 2013
No Comments on July Writing, Racing, Rotating

7/1– 10:53pm. Over 1,500 words to book, finally completing 3PAGE effort from other day. AC on, still. Cold down here, really. A bit uncomfortable. No wine this eve. Can’t afford, with 5am run planned. Tired from day’s shift, and the bloody heat. Took I think over ten decent pictures at lunch– now just repeating what I JUST wrote in 3PAGES. Listening to Thievery radio, Pandora, obviously. Sipping Lemon sparkling tonight. I know, who cares– so stop reading, then. I’m not worried about criticisms, analytical shrapnel.. I’m reporting my Now. That’s truth, honest writing. And the honesty in this sitting would be my drained state, that I’m not looking forward to the drive the Half Moon Bay cemetery tomorrow, to deliver Grandma to her final site.

Where am I running tomorrow? Thinking just down Yulupa, then back to castle. OR maybe I should go on some wandering run, through streets I’ve never seen. No, the terrain has to antagonize me. I’ll run to park, or in that direction, along Summerfield.

The pictures from today, reminding me how amazing this area is. Especially Sonoma Valley. Just hit 11pm. Should I watch the news? Or go to bed. Thinking the latter’s the more responsible, lucrative option. I don’t need to post tonight. I’ve done enough capturing, posting, blogging today. Why can’t I let mySelf just be lazy for a minute.. actually relax?

A little dazed from my 1,500 words I just decided to sit down & type– Think I hate the ampersand sign as much if not more than “and.” So how do I get around that? To tired to dwell. I’m a mess, readers.. can you not tell? MY consciousness stream has become glowing gutter flow. I away from it run, sprint, dash like I will tomorrow against my 45 minute limit. Hope it’s not even a wink of warm.. can’t take anymore temperature climbs.

7/2– 10:28pm. 3PAGES, done. Now, readying for rest. Need so after today. Have2say, love the town of Half Moon Bay. Need more new sights, tastes, like today at that restaurant. When I’m on the road, my budget for dining out will be boundless. I want to experience everything, all menu types. For the writing, yes, but more so for me as an Artist, a Human. And, no run yesterday. Maybe tomorrow. One short, useful.

7/3– 2:47pm. 3PAGES, just finished. Ready for run tomorrow. Think I’ve written 2much today. Breaking. 2nd mocha. Or frappuccino. Not sure what strikes writer’s fancy. A cinnamon latte, like I had the other morning at work?

8:53pm. Going to try in a minute, 1 more time, to download the stills from the other day. On mind, 10k in morning. And the 3PAGESaDAY I’ve been rather good at completing for the last few days. Just need to focus on pacing mySelf, maintaining form. Want to be in bed soon. 10pm, latest. And if I write at that point.. it’ll be pen2paper. Shouldn’t even be freetyping right now. “Free’typing’”.. huh. Typing isn’t writing. Never really thought it was.

Just thought of a goal, to start publishing end of business. 100 pages a month. Eventually, I’ll stretch to 150. Then 200. And no more than that, for a while. Want everything off this device– OH, forgot the memory stick upstairs. And my running socks, shorts. Plan on leaving at 6:30am. I will be going in after, as I may have noted.. but that’s not anywhere in my meditative aqueduct.

Gathering all those Comp Books today while cleaning home office made me realize I really have to start taking the idea of consolidation as a writer seriously. I’ve scattered mySelf; I am not necessarily scattered as an Artist. Fixable. Not worrying. Going to force Self to change. Less, I keep telling Self. Less, less… THERE! The camera finally “synced” with this monster laptop. Looking at the recent photos, from lunch the other day.. AND past pieces. I definitely have a business, a livelihood, one incredibly profitably and fun, in all the moments I’m trapping. Sorry, reader.. excessively excited. Human, yes. But a bit annoying for you as the reader, so I apologize. Tempering.. sharing stills–

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July Reso’

7/1. With coffee. At cluttered desk. Have to get my own office. This is getting to be overwhelming, honestly. Waiting, waiting… My friend Alicia, yesterday, setting up on the hill for client wedding. Took some interesting stills, FINALLY had the chance to interview her.. and, just get out of the tasting Room for a bit.

On 2nd cup, this A.M. Going to need it, after all the lovely wine opened at Mom & Dad’s last night. All 4 of us together. Can’t remember the last time that happened. Was disturbing, though, some aspects of the industry brought to my attention, regarding a company’s rights over what a winemaker produces for them. AND, anything else a winemaker does, period. Who do these owners, be they family or corporate, think they are? It disgusts me, frankly. That’s why I want to make wine, eventually, for ME. Not looking to be part of any production team, anywhere. So that’s known…

Counting down till Fall. Hoping to get business fully in motion, Autonomous, before then. That’d be incredible, I can’t even tell you… Have a couple more bills to put into the biz stash. Just counted.. $95. That was fast. Need to keep contributing, build the amount. What do I want from this money? Not sure. It’ll hit me when time’s right, I’m sure.

8:05am. Time to look through these pictures, have to get in shower soon, prepare for day. Pretty sure I’m just “TR.” Sipping coffee.. thinking. Video, pictures, documentary.. media, writing garnish.. brainstorming– Sorry, reader.. just need to get it down, in some shape. Again, having tech problems with my devices. Hate this time crunch, like you don’t even, CAN’T even, understand. […] There, got it to work.

Throughout day.. pictures, video, notes, everything. Capture as much as I can, quick as I can, WHEN I can. Running out of space on phone, for stills, so on lunch I’ll use other cameras. Only way. -Mike, 8:12am

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Trail 1

6/30/13. 7:41am. Woke before six to get ready for run with Carmen. We ended with 4.12 miles in 34:55. 8:28/mi pace. Not bad, I guess. Was so nice to run with obviously gentler atmosphere, but also less characters on paths with us. Carrying this energy with me through day. Couldn’t wait to get to keys. Thought of new writing practice whilst in intervals: take notes throughout day, as I many times do, then rack them into 3PAGESforDAY. Done. Disappointed I didn’t complete 3, yesterday. But I needed to write more freely for this log [NOTblog].

May be taking some pictures around Estate today. For a friend of mine, Alicia, who owns her own very accelerant business. She has her own office.. 3,000+ sq ft in SF. That’s what I want. Well, I don’t need that big a safehouse for writing, but something to mySELF. Should probably charge cameras, free some space on phone– So much to do. And I know it sounds banal, but there truly are not enough hours in the day.

Dinner at Mom & Dad’s tonight, to discuss Grandma, what she left. How is it that Grandma won’t be at the dinner? Still can’t believe it, that she’s moved on. Motivates me to write, whatever streams through head.. to be around for Jack, as long as a writer can. Get everything done that I want. OH, and my students, the ones returning this coming semester, well as those new to my view: want to be the most enriching instructor they’ve ever had. Still need to order my books.. that’d be a great place to start [I type, laughing crazily in head]. Think I’ll be doing that this Wednesday, the day before the Foot Race.

Teaching blog, maddenedread.com.. starting tonight after 3 pages have been typed. AND EDITED. Still haven’t proofed my inaugural sessions from the past few days. Loving this energy, this morning. Definitely appreciate Ms. Carmen for waking so early with me. AND, agreeing to do the race this Thursday.

Wine today: need to revisit barrel with hole in it (NewDadCuvée). And, what the hay, the Merlot additionally. Want to see what my wines want me to know today.. want to see what THEY have to say. This final trial vintage for me, 2013, doing all on own. And I think I will inoculate, this time. I don’t care how good the fruit looks. I’m looking to show my talent.. talentS, as a winemaker. I have no intention riding Nature’s coattails.

Alice & Kerouac, away for walk with one of her “mommy friends,” up the Bennett Valley hills. Woodview, to be precise. Love the homes up there. Just the type of property I want little Kerouac to be raising on, in. This condo, the nefarious neighbors, random rubbish.. not what I want around my little boy.

The morning mocha, concerted harmoniously with the energy I brought back with me, from run. Today’s going to be one of those paradigm days, I can feel. Looking through these pictures, deciding which ones to take off phone. Time capsule, in pocket everyday, I’m realizing. Interesting.

autre

Scratched Stand, scribble

Post author By mikemadigan
Post date June 30, 2013
No Comments on Scratched Stand, scribble

Running at 6:30am with Carmen, plus sipping a little ’11 SB, currently. So no 3PAGESaDAY, today. In tasting Room, main bar, for shift’s majority. Still feel yesterday’s 6.31 mile run. Missed this blog, honestly. If I shoot for 3 pages everyday, wouldn’t that strip it of splendor? Sipping… Losing its voice, stature, this ’11. Feel bad for it, a bit. The heat today, more than I ever want to fold into notes. Dreamed of a North Dakota winter: harshly white, blizzardly, blinding, surrounding ice.. trapped indoors, forced 2complete book, books. AC just turned off. How is it still turning on at this hour, 9:39p?

Can’t believe I missed the blog, writing for it? Did I learn something? No. Just more confused. But it’s beautiful. Surprising Self, that’s Artistic. Want to explore, go for some “extreme” hike, or travel.. blog the entire collective moment, then rack all “posts” into book– Well wait, can’t I do that now? Watching a murder investigation segment. Genre, popping into head. Don’t want to write for category at Barnes & Noble, for marketability. But what if I did? Maybe I’ll think about that on my run tomorrow morning, the earliest run I’ve assumed in.. well, ever. Carmen said it’s about 4 miles. Fine with me. Yesterday was the last sizable sprint before the Foot Race, Thursday the 4th.

Am I crazy for going into work Thursday, after the race? Yes. Definitely. That’s what writers do, though. I, certainly, can be assigned CRAZY tag. Want to see how the race influences my character. And, to thicken day’s cyclical pivotal, I’m assigned to Reserve Room that day. I’m getting older, I know this. But I REFUSE[!!!] to tire, ever. Running’s another counterassault I’ve opened agains Time. Just finished the final SB pour, dumped bottle’s remainder into sink. Should probably have some water. Do I feel wine’s windings? A little, but not enough I think to bend morning’s leap. Excited for the removal of Annadel trails. Hate running alongside traffic, having to wait for traffic lights. Whenever I see Red, I’ll run left, or right, waiting to cross street, dodge traffic to continue my momentum. In the park, with trees, silence, the Natural, this Writer won’t have2worry.

10:24pm. Don’t want to feel pressured, tonight, with the 3PAGE completion. Am going to stick to that practice.. it just won’t close consistently with this new practice. And that’s fine, as the Writer sees it. It doesn’t feel natural. IT’d be forced. Writers like I can’t be coerced.

After the run, tomorrow morning, straight to coffee house. 4 shots, like this morrow. Today, in Room, feeling blurred. Maybe a type of wine world claustrophobia [huh, spelled that right on first go]. Tired thinking about it. Maybe the SB’s reach finally reaches my writing’s rite. Glad I stopped when I did. And I love this new shape the Writer’s taking, taken. Everyone around me says I’ve become more ornery since my running seriousness has sprouted. I agree, completely. One of the facets I actually like, about ME. I’ll evolve as I do– but always at WAR with Time. I write. IT doesn’t.

I win.

(6/29/13)

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on campus

Done with 3 pages. 2nd day I’ve done that. 3pages a day. Tired from 5+ mile run with Carmen in heat. In castle, AC harmonizes, or tries, with this song. Glass in kitchen, forcing the writer to slowly sip. Thankfully, no bee barrage on Lawndale. Still don’t understand what happened there, that day. So relaxed, with this sitting. Hoping to run again tomorrow– Ugh, just repeating 3pg content.

This wine, needed rest. At least this bottle, not palate-ready. Hopping into kitchen for ‘nother sip, be back… Perpetuating my calmness, these gentle pours. Thinking of Paris, that trip in ’09. The hotel, the view, those writings I’d do while Alice was asleep. See? I’m always writing. I AM obsessed. So why am I not on Road, in my office? Think I’ve finally found answer in this 3PAGEaDay habit. And that’s how I’ll forever it write. I hate ‘3pg/day’. Looks so sterile, so office-like, “professional.” And how is it Literary, or even really written if it’s abbreviated?

10:47pm. Getting tired. May break, turn news on. But then a song steps shyly through speakers, reminding me nights in that hotel lobby, in Paris. If I were there alone, on a Self-imposed writing assignment.

Days lecturing at SSU. Could have done better, sure, but I was still in pedagogical infancy. Now, I’m a professional– no take that term away.. I’m confident, assured that I do what I do correctly, effectively. Not sure what brought me to remembering those days, but I am. Probably ‘cause I went there only 6 years prior to me beginning my instruction. Those days on campus.. where I only wrote spoken word, basically. Did a little fiction, for class, then a little Personal Essay work, for Sherril’s class. But poetry, song, was my focus. Time, with another victory in this recall. I’m aging. Fighting with whatever sentences, rhymes I can gather.

(6/27/13)

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vintage snare

Wine, mystery net. I don’t want to solve you. Just walk with. Write with.

Looking at bottles, especially red, I always wonder what’s behind glass. What it wants to say. Does it want to be understood, or remain enigmatic, anomalous? Maybe that’s not for me to know, just experience. React if I want. Need to keep walking, pour2pour.

This, too enjoyable, tinted

puddle. Speak whatever elixir’d

elements you have to hatch.

Distance, only more anxious an

admirer makes. Sipping, imaginarily–

Your clouds that carry me.

Wine, nano-entertainment of, sends me2ramble. But maybe that’s intended. Red bed, since said from where fled.

More walks, through libraries, vintage, type, stripe.

(6/27/13)

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Eye Pilot

Just finished a string of writings over the past few days. Entries, over 2,000 words total. Too much for blog, so I’ll put it into one of the chaps. This rain, positively shaping my mood. Love the sounds, whether inside or out. Not a drop of wine tonight. Hoping to run in morning, even if it’s raining. That’d be just the right dose of newness to start day. Wouldn’t take my little tracking device with me.. so, no music. Would want to be alert to everything. Paris on mind, thinking of all the input, all the material out there.. everything, anything that could help build a book.

Ready for spoken word, verse, poem, rime.. the anti-formalist flights I form late.. or whenever, lately. A bit stuck, on this couch, with the muted TV, my writing movie playing on this laptop monster. What’s the most eventful next step? It’s my choice, I hear Grandma saying. Yesterday, the reminder that she’s gone. But I don’t know if she’s “gone” at all. I feel like she’s still here, especially with those last advisory words in her hospital room. ‘My Life, my choice,’ in a nutshell. So, if I had to plan it all out tonight, my Life’s entire remainder, having whatever I want, how would I list?

One issue, the manuscript size. I know I shouldn’t obsess over this, but I do. First, what can I afford? That only demands I do chapbooks. But what if I don’t want something that small? What does that matter? Huh.. I really AM obsessing. How about, JUST WRITING. Put it out there bit by bit. However that looks. Need a couple minutes to think–

Need music. This movie, seen too many times. Don’t blame the film, at all. Target Self with criticisms. Getting distracted by too much, now. Not going to overthink how I should have things in this Room arranged. Just going to keep writing.

Fall’s lectures, the winery, my wines, 2013’s vintage.. too much in moment’s barrel. Tired. The rain’s telling me to call the day.. to just stop with the types, rest. But I don’t agree. I’ll apologize to the drops, but not dwell on our scuffle. Moving on.

Think it’s the prose.. this formalistic voice, shape my thoughts are taking. Should jump to Comp Book– So if readers walk away with anything, from this particular sitting, entry, or “post,” it’d be to know when to change shape, mode.. know when the stream’s asking you to leave. Yes… Poetry, much more appropriate, for this Now… [6/24/13]

6/25/13: Up with Jack, mocha done, well as one home cup. A lady the other day, telling me that she wants to follow my career, asking for my email, name and blog address. Still raining… Have to write fast, noteform– Jack on move in unusually fast manners.

Wrote 1 poem this morning. Some rimed line. When little Kerouac’s asleep, will rack standalones into chap. Following newest idea. Oh well. Kerouac listens to the Thievery playing through phone. Where’s Comp Book? In bag I think. This rain, can hardly understand it. But it had pertinence I’m sure.. Book gravity. Hoping to run later. Getting sloppy with routine. Worries me.

May need another cup to nurse.. keep this stream streaming. So much material in this Comp Book, the one due 11/24/13. More than enough for a couple collections. Thinking of it as a running well. Almost full. Or bound vault. Everything in there. Keeping simple. MY whole life racked into book.

Lecture Idea: First Day– What you understand about reading, writing, thinking, and Critical Thinking– definitions of your own are fine, but I’m interested in a non-academic, Human description of each.

This Fall, unlike any term I’ve taught. Now, Jack completely silent, while he reads a book about a mama Panda with her cub. He switches to another book. He likes these chill café beats. Think I do need another cup. Love moments like this, have to record them. I know time itches to take them away. Not my little Artist stares out the window at the drops. Can’t believe this, rain in late June, after Summer’s start.

From this blog, to book… Don’t other authors do that? Sure they have. Doesn’t matter, that’s what I’m doing. May have some wine tonight, but not sure what. That new Pinot, St. Francis…?

Thought last night: How Alice dedicated herSelf to fitness, losing weight, changing pretty much all her habits.. I need to mimic such, exactly, exceedingly. She wanted something, in herSelf, and just took it. Can’t I do the same with these pages, getting to the Road, my Office?

Looking through old wine stills. How has time escaped me? Surprised with how much I’ve seen tasted, how many different characters I’ve captured.

This current beat, putting me back in Paris’ streets. Haven’t forgotten about my town– recently reminded of, with a girl at work, recently returning from Europe trip. Her high school grad trip, sharing with me her advanced affinity for Paris. She spoke how her friends and she often hunted down historic sights while the boys capitalized on being able to drink at their age with local laws. Interesting.

Me, 34, feeling like I’m just starting to understand my character, what I [!!!] want. Simple: the best for Kerouac, little Jack. My career needs to be strong, safe, in haltless ascent. To secure such, I need to be FULLY independent– never dependent on checks, allowances, reimbursements, supervisory statutes, available shifts, courses.. nothing. Only surviving on what/how much I can write, SELF-publish.

Switches spots. Leaning against Jack’s toy chest, watching him play by sliding glass door.. drops falling, he moving what he can, having discussions with himSelf, me, whatever object’s in transit. This music, setting moods for us, both. Think the rain stopped. But my typing hasn’t. These old pictures, just swirling state. Not even sure what to think. And that footage I have upstairs, of the Paris trip, done months before the first blog’s birth.. what do I do with all I’ve captured, gathered? Is there a “right” way to use it? Shouldn’t think like that. Just put it out there. And if it flops, there’ll be a project right behind it. That’s one of the benefits to the small project, like chapbooks.