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.


entry – 3/10, 3/11

Even more evidence that Self-publishing’s the only way for me.  Today, at the AV Winery, met a gentleman while shadowing a tour, former math teacher, that had written a couple textbooks, had them published.  He said that he made less than 10k/year from his writing efforts, even though the publishers were essentially bullies with their deadlines.  “When the publisher gives you a deadline, I mean…that’s it, it’s a deadline,” he said.  Like the devilish publisher’s his boss.  Now, one could say to me, “Yeah, they are the writer’s boss.” And I agree, if a writer were to agree with such an arrangement.  Me, I’m done with “bosses,” “supervisors,” managers of any milieux.  Like Dad has always told me, “You work for You.”

After this entry, going to finish a poem I started today, meant to be short.  Had another fantasy today, while shadowing a coworker’s tour, of touring with my words, reciting to crowds.  That night in a hotel where I’m by mySelf, writing at a desk by an open sliding glass door, with a bottle of a found red near, just to right of my writing hand.  See it a pen2paper session…

Tried waking early this AM, but little Kerouac woke us at 5-something, so I needed the sleep.  Woke at 8:20-something.  Even my 3-shot mocha today from the corporate Joe temple couldn’t charge me.  Thought about winemaking while sipping, north on 101, then Chalk Hill.  Left a message for my sister, about this ’12 vintage.  Want my wine to have a character–that calm Cabernet cruise of a conscience.  But, she’s in her barrel.  And the never-patient writer’s pinned in wait.  Horrid.

Not sure where I’m going with this poem I started today.  Should just follow its orders, “go with it,” as Dad once said when I called him from a writing assignment’s destination.  I called him and said I found it overwhelming, that I didn’t know where to start.  He voiced the above line, urged that I ride the consciousness stream, take it ALL in, don’t feel confined to one focus.  See, a publisher would try and make a writer like me have a “direction,” one they found useful, marketable and profitable for them.  They would try to make me act “professionally.” They’re the enemy.  And another idea I asseverated today, was that being a Self-published writer shouldn’t be so hard, processed, to legitimize, warrant.  Painters and other artists, can be independent, people expect them to be; just paint, put it on display, exhibited in a gallery, or shop, or restaurant–out there somewhere for eyes.  Winemakers, filmmakers, musicians, other business owners.  Why not writers?  I always asked, hoping someone would answer for me, like I was fishing for acceptance, approval, someone to say, “go ahead.” So, I answered, I approved.  Today.

Tired.  Tomorrow, in Kaz’s Room.  Excited to see how the Lenoir’s tasting.  The ’08 Cab, too.  Need to get back in the groove of writing, and yes TYPING (as it need be, for a BOOK), 3 pieces a day.  Not going to finish the poem tonight, as I need sleep.  I remember one time, while I was living off Mission here in Santa Rosa, I wrote a 2 verse spoken word piece in a matter of 12 minutes.  I timed my Self, as to finish before a favorite program came on.  I later recorded it, put it to a CD I sold.  Those habits, need revival.  In some respects, I think I may have already.


3/11:  Forgot about daylight savings time.  How is it 9:04a, already?  Rain drops, marching down the tin gutter, or drain, on the other side of this wall.  Going to print a rough draft of the chapbook in less than an hour.  Will bring it to tasting Room, read it if not busy.  This weekend’s another one for barrel tasting, but not in Sonoma Valley.  Made that mistake last weekend.  Think Alexander Valley’s up this weekend.  And no, my AV Winery isn’t participating.  Good for them.  Anyway, the 52-page manuscript will certainly be edited, but I want it to appear raw, unfiltered.  Like AV Winery’s wines.  Truly representative of this independent writer’s moments.  Yes, grammar, spelling issues will be mended.  Punctuation…only if it’s really disruptive.  A traditional publisher, with its robotic behavior, would throw my pages into a Literary puke pile, I’m sure.  Which is why I’m independent.  I’m somewhat starting to think that the tag “self-publishing” or “self-publisher” is something I want to change.  Even “self-imprinting” sounds sterile, industrial.  Why not “independent writer,” like “independent filmmaker?”; Or, “independent contractor?” Why are they independent, ‘cause their craft isn’t up to a certain standard?  Are they not good at what they do?  No, I say in most cases.  They want to produce and perform at their own pace.  Writer.  INDEPENDENT.  And I don’t want those readers that think much of my writing’s angry or rage-wrapped to here see me as again incensed.  No!  I’m quite happy, peace’d actually, finally.  Secure in my scribe skin.  Need coffee now.


Downstairs, caffeine keys

for me, what I behave.

That doesn’t sound

right, says the printer.


Sure it does.


Me, a block, collide.  Just need a cup hot.  Mocha mix or no?  Just read a little more of 2012ChapBook1, I’m actually shocked at how much I like what I’m reading, how excited I am to print it this morning.  Feel amazing to be independent.  Independent Writer…  Sounds so much better than “self-published,” or “self-imprinted.” NewMike reminds everyone he’s on stage, and never going away.