from a journal

5/10/19

Friday.  But you know my opinion and stance on Fridays.  So what.  It’s Friday yes and to some that’s something, but I don’t care.  I’m working tomorrow, and the next day, the day after that.  I’m a blogger, writer, writer before a blogger and always noting something, so days off are days of others, not me.

Resolving to not spend any more money, today.  Not one penny.  What about lunch.  I need something to eat at that time, always do.  So what do I do.  Use change.  Yes.  Get as many quarters as I can, that’s lunch.  The quarters don’t matter, today, this meaningless Friday.

At the coffee spot same as yester’, with a 4-shot latte and the back table all to self.  About 40 minutes to self before I have to get to office to be a professional.  Professional.  What.  I’m learning.  Educating myself closer to 40 I get, knowing that all I want is the world, every Road I can find, any wine I haven’t tried, and sip and scribble overlooking a street, a canyon with a river somewhere in Switzerland.  That’s my most vocal and mobile and noble of “goals”.

Every morning should be this, time with self.  Friday or whatday.

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5/3/19

Sonic is not just a platform or bridge but new translator of everything, everything I want.

Back in Berkeley/Albany, today.  I will NOT fail in lunching with words at either Peet’s or Starbucks.  The 8page project, first issue, done today.  Submitted to friend for her opinion and reaction.

Hungry, now.  Will have a couple snacks, or fast and see how my character reacts.  Desk, a bit messy.  Sip coffee hoping it quells hunger.  Still no word from that dimwitted winery.  I just laugh, at this point really.  Supposed to be on property Sunday but no offer letter.  What business has that kind of incongruency?  Not thinking about it.  Team gets here in office in just under 30 min.

Aims for day, just one—8page.  Write rest of it, edit lightly, then submit.  Driving on Stony Point to office thought about writing retreat, writing a book in one week, somewhere, somewhere… why not here.  The book on thought I’ve been cooking for … how long?  Nevermind.

Wine senses my frustration, that’s why the Claret last night tasted differently, more comforting and with more a caressing and loving codification of language.  I knew she was trying to tell me something, something…what specifically I’m still unclear but she communicated with me, from color to the smoke-sown form of her chocolate and berry architecture.  She told me to keep writing her, about her, all wines, and don’t stall, don’t allow self to slow, ever.  I won’t.  I know I can’t stray or vary in my momentum.

How I wish I had the whole day to write, I say to myself. Then I realize I do.  I very much do.  We all do, if we choose.

Sonic then tells me to write more wildly and with more crazed shape and blaze, craze and philosophy phase.  Free self through creative, through and in and from this journal, and all journals in the writer’s possession.

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5/2/19

Ready for day.  4 shot latte.  Projects, all made into consolidated approach and identity, duty and sky.  Me here thinking about my office, my travel, the drive today down to Berkeley, the conversations I’ll have in the field, the talk last night with that student who always says how much class and my words help and I know it’s not to get anything from me as she’s already with high HIGH standing in class.

I collect, ready for day.  Prepared to sell writing… thinking of every business owner and entrepreneur-ish individual I’ve met over the years and wonder HOW THE FUCK DID SOMEONE LIKE THAT DO THAT?!?!  ‘Cause they didn’t stop. They just decided they were going to do that. Just that.  Nothing else.  No compromise.  Today I’m affirming and re-affirming the same.

On one standalone, autonomous piece a day project I now have 2 logged.  Just finished a 300-word or so piece, posted to Medium.  NO eating out in East Bay.  Go to Peet’s or Starbucks, finish 8page project.  Peet’s, that’s more a writer’s spot than corporate monster sbux.

40 doesn’t scare me, anymore.  I dare it, I dare me, I dare the story directly.

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Back from day of being sick, finally able to eat again. This little thing of cheese and img_8290crackers, and another ginger ale.  Another night tonight of going to bed earlier than usual, hoping to wake earlier enough to get out some words.

Since arriving to office, I’ve only thought about business.  Like I wrote yesterday, in the little writing I did actually do, something like this teaches you about health.  How fragile it is.  How at any minute, moment, second, you life could be halted or directionally altered.  I want my office, and I’m tired of waiting.  So… all day today taking notes.  Exactly what I want, how I want it.  Everything being made into a movie, a business idea.  Entertain people…. Hmmm… then I think more.  A business strategy which gives more life to any business that touches it.  More than just attention hoarding, or simple marketing, but a magnetism that doesn’t wear.

As the ideas continue to catapult and cartwheel everywhere in my head, I think about cancelling class tonight.  Should I?  Or should I have a discussion session, something I’ve never done before in class.  Just talk.  Talk about… writing, reading, everything.  About where we are, and what we’re doing.  I need to devote more hours to this— MY business.  Recording and writing, filming and photography, every facet that gives visual life to something.  And then there’s the book, ‘the’ book, starting a business from only an overpacked pot of ideas.  Like thought-clam-chowder.  Thick, textural, interactive, with weight and a certain way.

Idea for a store of some kind.  Wine, running accessories and resources.  My head’s everywhere.  I know… from being away and now here in this place of voluminous and prophetic approaches and just motions that yield culturally-composing results.

Someone plays one of the video games behind me.  I’m reminded to play.  Not take things so seriously.  I have an idea.  A wine idea.  Telling people to go buy a wine, or set of wines.  Will write about this before I do anything like start yet ANOTHER blog.  Or a business build around bloggers.  Not sure where to go, but I’ll write both down.  Both… blogs, wine… writing workshops… Now my head is truly a separated shed.  I breath, literally, look at the fly on the table, left, and use where I already am, what I already have.  Wine writer at a tech office/shop.  Okay… okay…. Then I go back to my characters from the other day.  “Fuck,” I think, “how many topics have I touched in this short entry?” To be expected from someone coming off DL— overly ambitious, maybe.  Full of fire, a bit of ire thinking they missed out on something, time or time to work on something.

Still hungry.  So what then.  More cereal?  Take out pen and start jotting all these business ideas?  This company has me wanting to try everything.  And when I’m trying to be more linear and singular maybe that’s not the best thing.  I don’t know.  But I am thinking, I am active and connected to surroundings and what I’m typing—  What I’ll soon be jotting, planning, dreaming in ink.

10/24/18

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Thinking of everything I can this morning. 

To do before class, prior to being taken away from page.  My sight of seeing other cities and reading in them, speaking in them, sharing ideas like I do at SRJC semester after semester.  Somewhere else.  And in different directions and momentums.  Do what I do there, just louder, and in more locations… more creatively, more creatively than I already do.  Yes.  Just do that.  Should share this idea with the students.  

Want to get somewhere, be something?  Keep doing what you’re doing to get yourself there, just with more loudness, more momentum.  More hunger and creativity.

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