2day’s story–

IMG_57786:54, just got to campus. Optional day for students. Thinking of new ideas for what I’m building in being a writer, and putting the novel on hold, or rather having it be my toy truck project. One student in room with me. My adjunct days, or the dependent/co-dependent days of living so are coming to an end. Won’t go off on that and I know you think I will, but I’ll refrain..
The wines from yesterday, and just how I felt driving around, introducing myself and finding new interpretations of varietals and business models.. has me thinking of expansion, and doing something MAMMOTH in the industry.. blogging and tasting and Art and photography.. all of it, and blending it with literature.. saying this wine would pair well with– OOOO!!! Just thought of something else.. have to type it.. “class” if you’d call it that starts in 3 minutes, now 2. Jackie and I up at 2 till after 3 watching cartoons, but I have coffee don’t worry. Told Alice I would sleep between classes but I don’t see myself doing that, knowing me and how much I want to write after yesterday’s RRV mission…

Home. And I’m writing. Posted wine review, see what happens.. think there’sIMG_5746 something quite valuable and antagonistic, valuably antagonistic in this MOCK SOMM column.. again, we’ll see. I am tired but I know if I have just one cup I’ll write luminously and with seismic force.. I say that and cringe, thinking of the people in Nepal. How and why does life do that to people? Wish I could fly there, document it to tell there story, and help in other ways. But I know me and I’m certain I wouldn’t be able to handle it; the pain, the death, and the sight of harmed children. Was going to watch a WWII doc the other night and stopped when I saw a baby crying, atop rubble. I felt sad, sick, and ashamed I even saw that pained curvature to its eyes, mouth, brow, arm.. ugh, no more.
And my baby, little Kerouac, up early this morning with his cough and me bringing him downstairs to get his mind away from the discomfort, turning on cartoons. He was much better, more talkative and expressive for it, and we all went to bed for a couple hours following, so I have no regret in what I executed but my body and sight, thinking is affected. I’m slower, and sensitive I notice to sound and how I touch things, even these keys. But I’m sped in my keypushes so I’m determined and strangely comfortable, at Peace with this sitting (on floor, against couch, next to backpack).
Consolidating blogs at semester’s close, my left knee.. more coffee.. a nap.. haircut….. Jackie….. Just a few subjects strangling my sensibility at the moment, and how I discussed this morning with two of my stronger matriculants the contradictory and widely ugly hypocrisy of academia.. more I think about me and my story and role as adjunct I see these pages taking me away, and soon, and the inventiveness must perpetuate.. bottledaux as a company.. ‘WRITen’ as an idea, and the whole vinoLit philosophy I formed in ’09/’10… Think, don’t stop thinking.. brainstorm as I urge the students. When I look at some of their journals and see how heaping they are with thought and just true stormings of the brain, I realize I need to anger my own efforts. Antagonize them. TAUNT them. Treat them as caged cats that only want to fight back. SO I do I will I’m going to.. all day. No nap. Fuck a nap. What would that do but make me dead for an hour or more.. no writing when you’re sleeping. That sure as shit won’t finish a MS.
And back from a distraction. Email, social media, pushing the blog and what have.. So quiet in the condo, and I know I won’t sleep. And I’m not that tempted anymore. One of the social media tributaries is slow, or clogged, simply not functioning but I won’t let it damper. No.. I write on.. and I’m hoping tomorrow at Arista gives me more material on wine and wine thoughts and words as it has since I started. Huh, look at the writer fly across his keyboard. You know what, reader, I will have that next cup, if you don’t mind… And I’ll rise in a minute from this floor. Wine.. wine tasting.. winemaking. With more and more flowering showing up in the vineyards, my wine nears, my Cab. OR Pinot. Shit, what do I want. Why not try Pinot? The chemistry dimension or segment you can find assistance for, with. But how it tastes is my conduction. I’ll again study what we’re pouring and elect what tones I want visible. Yes, I’m challenging Pinot just as I’m sure it will challenge the writer.
Already coming to a thousand for the day and I can’t wait for tomorrow, for the reactions from how I describe the wines, which a better 99-point-something percent take to. And, sometime I instruct myself there, in the moment, in the TR while I’m connecting with a local or tourist on how the wine presents itself that day. Wine shifts shapes, I evermore appreciate and see and think that’s what people forget. “How will this taste in two or three years?” How the hell IMG_5793should I know, however the wine wants itself to taste. Now some winemakers will give you a thought that’s smattered in formula and some obscurely worded prediction (if they have their dictionary or thesaurus or ‘phonics’ book close by) . But I’ve found the wine is more cognitive that we give it credit. And, again, that’s why wine is quite plainly FUN. Why would you want to know what you’re going to get for your birthday, or xmas, or any occasion. Isn’t the tradition of surprise much of what contributes to and establishes life’s allure and cherished chase?
Looking at a picture from yesterday, of the soil in one of the VML vineyards. And I’m not sure, why, just the richness and texture and visual voice.. that image and.. I don’t know, but I’m captured and developing in my survey.. the seen, the scene.. I react and.. and….. I don’t know. Splendor, sense, Art, writing, a story, new ME: NEW MIKE. One I like, or even love. Again, I

Ideas.. a broadcast in addition to the writing.. just keep writing and working and thinking and capturing..



coffee picWas thinking driving back from campus that I’m sick of the blog, and that the pages I wrote, handwrote, this morning and those from Sunday morning at Flying Goat and the Bakery, will be printed.  Just made coffee for myself and it’s to my left, but should I sip it?  Should I take a quick nap?  No, told myself I wouldn’t, but if I take one sip there’s no going back.. ugh, what to do, what to do.  Had a strong meeting this morning, but I had myself wrapped in doubt, or questioning myself and I can’t do that, I have to exude Hemingway confidence at my age and at this point in my career.  I look at the coffee, bring it to nose, smell…..  And I don’t sip!  I put it back down!  Can’t remember the last time, or ever doing that!  Heard a song on KCSM this morning, just now driving back as I said, by Rhiannon titled “City Life”, where she voices everything on her mind and all her worries, not so much singing as reciting, speaking her words, to the jazz, the frantic arrangement in the back ground.  My bagel’s ready, have to rise to get it, now I’m thinking like Rhiannon, enumerating everything I have to do and noticing the time shrink and I feel pressure and stress, and I have to go to the Soc Sec office after 1B and somehow fit in a run.. just thinking of it all, of Life, exhausts me.  Bit the bagel…..  Back on couch.  Just the thought of drinking the coffee and feeling that electricity exhausts me.  Jackie woke at 2-something then I came downstairs, then woke at 3 something got up to check clock and realized I could get more sleep.  So there’s two interruptions, must be why I’m so tired.  Going to spill out this entire cup, never done that.  Going to get in a power nap, go to Petaluma Campus and rile them as I did the 1A section.  No jazz now, as I enjoy the quiet.  I need rest, I need to slow, I need Peace this morning.  Not too much motion.  So, I change pattern.  Meditation, thought, stories.. want to write another like the one I submitted to Mom last week.  And print it!  Reached for coffee but stopped myself, going to finish bagel then lie down.. bit bagel and realize, “Yes, I need a little nap.”  This room, again occupied by my son’s toys, his legion of play.  I love it, but I don’t want to focus on it too much as that will wake me.  I need rest, I’m an adjunct, always juggling, jobs and papers and sections and traffic.  Wonder what he’s doing now, little Jack, at school.  Wonder what he’s learning, what he’s saying to his friends.  Wonder if he’s thinking of me, and thinks about our great day of leisure yesterday.  what is thinking?  I can’t help but think.  Curses!  Now I’m awake.  Pillows, still here, right, I need them more than this entry.

9:35, much later in day, and I sip my Merlot, the one I made in ’12.  Structurally, I’m not sure what I think, but I did make it and I’m drinking it, after a day like today, where nothing happened, nothing gripped me, nothing shook me to significant degree.  AND, our car was broken into, window smashed and Alice’s purse taken, so I’m sure that’s taking my mood for a certain spin.  Wasn’t able to move photos from phone to external hard-drive, which frustrates me but I put myself in that position, to be frustrated, by technology, always it seems.  But I want to be known as a WRITER, even if it’s a writer who blogs, delivers his words by way of blog.  Yes I know (I say to Self), Kerouac never used a blog and neither did Plath, Hemingway, so what am I doing.  Well, I’m going to write till the world’s on fire and I don’t care which world, at all; the wine world, the academic world (making it pay for how adjuncts are treated and dismissed), the Literary world and how so much favoritism is flown toward the mainstream checkout counter novels, all that vampire and courtroom and romance smut.  Again, I’m in a mood, very much in a mood.  But then I find an old picture of Jack, smile, and my night recovers.cute j pic 1  Need tomorrow to be something different, something unexpected– I’ve been wishing for that one awesome day, the one that will change everything, my whole life and writing reality.  And I want it to be tomorrow, and it will be.  I’ll write about being a father, and a writer, and an adjunct that HAS to be in the wine world as the FT position can only be dreamt.  This picture of J, so long past, and I age, watch him age but he gets more interesting and charming and cute, where I just age, get grumpy, and slow.  Goddamn Time, and all you do.  Took a few of the Valentine’s candies from the box Alice got me, the little mint-themed and flavored hearts.  I poured them out, all face-down except for one that read “Chill”.  Telling me to relax, not take it all so seriously?  Not pressure Self?  Tomorrow I’ll wake and dive into the coffee headfirst and stay under its waves, become part of them, ingest and inhale them, be more motivated than I’ve ever been, and it’ll be Heaven, a certain Personhood that only some find, most only read or study or wish.

Another picture I find, one of frosted bark at the winery.  Still can’t believepic outside frost it’s over– I mean, I can, it’s just.. don’t know.  This picture punctuates ‘season’ to me, how they change, how Time moves and we all follow observe, just take our pictures.  Part of the picture shaded, where I am, then the rest highlighted, given life by Sun and shown to world, observed, I stand there and watch before I have to clock in, put my right forefinger on that fucking scanner.  But that estate, more than grandiloquent in its visual, its image and story. I’ll go back, one day, when I’m ready, when the story tells me to.

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



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

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–