I’m moving with unusual confidence this morning. 

img_4825Bobbing my head to this beat, my beat, the beat of this music and the writing itself with all these people around me, wondering what I’m writing, I’m sure, or not.  Doesn’t matter to me as I’m doing it, my IT.  As I lecture on essays and structure, I see today as a new thesis, a new experimentation with form and paragraph balance, punctuation and words.  The morning, a bacciferous manifest.  I keep bobbing my head to my new song, track after tack in under ten minutes here at the coffee shop.

I know Mike Madigan better than I ever have, today.  Just with this morning.  Some feeling or mood, some inward jot and elevation that consumed my life, every inch and parcel to it.  I have a drive ahead of me, and I know I’ll be with thirsty ache for pen, paper.  Let the ideas cook, simmer and set, settle.  ‘Cause I will settle for NOTHING with this brief time I have alive.  Nothing.  My oeuvre oscillates, giving me more momentum.

This is addictive, I can tell.  When I feel like this first thing in the morning and attains new way and wave to page.  Imagine… everything is yours.  All of it.

Wait, you don’t have to paint any visions in head.  It is.  It already is.  Right in front of you.  Right now. 

And the morning… the morning… oh, THE MORNING.  

img_4768First thought was health, wellness and total wellness about my character and story and what I thought of course was writing, and singularity as I obnoxiously and tirelessly stressed to students this past semester.  Got a mocha, but no eats or one of those breakfast sandwiches I usually am self-stroked into buying.  Note: NOT. THIS. MORNING.  Everything different.  

Wrote sentence in “Happiness Project” journal, third or fourth straight day.  I have these thoughts about my own marketing firm, a creative hut for clients and creatives to intersect and profit and build mutual business.  And that will happen, one day, but the first project and priority, apexing and towering over any other entertainment… ME.  This blog.  My writings and lectures or essays, whatever you want to call them.  I’m starving right now but I not so much channel it as I do re-write the electric of its echo… new music and tunes for me, now at 08:44.  Have plenty of time to collect in this office, writing everything down, differently than it sounds in head—  “Do everything differently.” re-written as “Be another character, that character you see.” So, forward.  Two journals in front of me and you can tell I’m a writer, a recorder… this morning and all mornings.

On my marathon, ultra-run to total wellness, a state, an Equilibrium I remember writing about back in 2008 while lecturing at SSU, I breathe and listen to this jazz, write along side Mr. Coltrane.  I’m the writer I see, have seen, finally.  My health is my writing, what provides sense and music to each of my steps, and how humdrum and repetitive the tasting room can be, this sequence on pages negates and erases any bland consistency.

Love when I’m like this, with all these journals out.  Yes, I feel a bit cluttered but writers are so, such, right now with this very key touch, and this one, this one…. Day starting, this morning, a writer in the wine industry tired of the industry, some parts of it, but commissioning everything that wine embodies and asserts, intones and represents in what I do as this writer. 

Offering a writing course over summer, all Summer semester, “The sentence.” Building books from a single sentence, or some submittable manuscript.  Doesn’t necessarily have to be. Thesis or some proclamatory punctuation or stance, some memo tone.  Just the sentence being the start to something mountainous.  Had this statement signaled in head this morning, right as I left the shower, turned on fan, walked over to ironing board to put on what I ironed before shower.  My health, can permit no nay-say.  I will only speak the language of solutions.  With my writing, personal associations, when in the tasting room or on some tour, talking about the wines, any wine, whatever.

I’m a different writer.  I’m a different Mike Madigan. I’m just a writer.  That’s it.  Not some business owner, not in the traditional sense.  Just a writer.  Books and blog and articles and chapbooks, some poetry, something everyday to put into the world.  I start writing the first lecture for the Summer course.. harnessing what I recall feeling while lecturing in the English 5 class, and the 1A to lesser road.  I’m different, re-written and whole as a writer.  Learning from the morning as I always do but this A.M. has me sent to new Newness and rising, elevations and pagination.

(6/7/18)