3:10pm.  With little Jack in nest, I can rest.  On these keys, yes.  I know I said I’d take a break from this drug of a device, but I thought it needed, to type..  Everything I uploaded from phone, now safe in this doc.  Well, kind of safe, I guess.  Up early tomorrow morning, having to be in vineyard for Chardonnay picking at 6:30am.  Today, for “internship,” I walked several blocks on the estate with winemaker and oenologist.  Can’t even recall everything I picked up from these two bottle brilliants.  But it’s in my winemaking Comp Book.  We tasted so many types, directly from vine.. Chardonnay, Sauv Blanc was first.. Alicante, Muscat Canelli, Malbec, old vine Syrah.. taught me to have more faith in my palate.  That’s what they both instilled in the writer.  The writing I did last night, in the Comp Book, to be put into a chapbook.  I am going forward with those projects.  I know, “Well, when then, Mikey?” Soon, I promise.  I know I’ve been saying it for some time, but beautifully sooner than what I’d consider “soon.” Watched a show last night where an “artist” was making quite the amount with his “creativity.” I just remember thinking, “if he can do it, I should have done so years ago.” Now’s my time, with all this material around me.. And the blogging, I have to say, even from phone [the immediacy of it], HAS helped.

In the mood for coffee, suddenly.  No mocha, today.  Didn’t have time.  Went to dentist from vineyard.  Found out I have a cavity.  I am a bit surprised, I have to say, but then not surprised at all.  Boring topic, so next…  Opening something else tonight.  But what?  Something to analyze for sake of notes I like.  Doesn’t have to be one of the varietals on the whoso menu.  How about the red I bought I Ty Caton’s?  Or one of those ’09 Cuvées from Lancaster.  The Malbec from St. Francis?  Not sure.  Just know I want to sip some wine, and dissect every characteristic I notice, then dissect the notes I get from deconstruction in the first round.

Last night’s lecture, progressed even better than the 1st.  And the lecture’s content, completely hand-written.  Forgot to print what I typed prior.  And I’m glad I did.  And, one of the pieces I assigned, class previous, dealing with one’s addiction to a laptop. Especially relevant, I realized listening to student reactions.  For the first time in this writer’s life, all’s self-situating into this melodic malaise.  Encouragement, like I’ve never known, from what intangibles around my books of notes float.  Finally, the composition targets me, congenially.

Speaking of THE Comp Book, where is it?  Oh, never mind, it’s still in work bag.  Would love to clean off this desk at some point this evening.  Tomorrow, also, back in tasting Room, I think.  Or am I on the mountain?  Doesn’t matter, there’s paragraphs everywhere..  Need to get some grading in tonight and tomorrow, as well.  Quite the busy writer, Mike Madigan.  Why the thought stream, the dirtiness, rawness of it all, favors my moments.  Just heard a noise from Kerouac’s Room.  May have been a sneeze, or unconscious cough.  Should I go check?  Afraid this swivel chair, that was once Dad’s, will make its low, aged squawking groan as I rise.

10:14pm.  Sipping an ’09 OVZ [old vine Zin].  I have no intentions of producing a Zin, ever, so I enjoy this as a total, consummate consumer.  Like how it defies the copiously fruity stereotype of Zinfandel.. the one I hold.  Nice floral aromatic net at senses, precise mid-palate, wild berry-centered finish.  Enlightening, for Zin-phobes like I.  Off to scribble in Comp Book, for 2nd chapbook.  Chap1, still to be edited.  Again, I conjure the correlation of a winemaker sending a wine to bottle and a writer sending a project to print.  “No going back,” as I recently heard a winemaker say.  Maybe that’s what’s been holding this writer still.

[9/11/12]

re

Knowing now, I’m not after a career in wine’s industry.  I’m a consummate consumer.  For the winemaking, I don’t know, really.  Today made a couple things clear to the writer.  That I’m just that, that’s what I really want–8 hours in MY office.  Writing.  Sipping Sauv Blanc now, here in base.  Needed Refresh, like an internet screen.  Reading the verse I this morning wrote.  Envisioning, again, that hotel Room fantasy.  On Road, writing, glass of something red on desk, next to legal pad, no laptop.  No music.  Just quiet, although I’d permit wave whispers through sliding glass window should I be by beach.

9:25pm, only now having dinner.  The day, draining me.  But, it’s behind.  This SB sip, putting me back on that island.  Fantasy.  Need another sip.  Tiring, eager for the morning mocha.  Completely incapable of writing anything holding gravity, animation.  Need to just clock out.  Now.  But first, sipping…  Back on island.  It’s the prose I blame.  Poetry antagonizes more innovation than paragraphs.  This form, shape.. stale.  Have to force Self to write, and I hate that.  What I typed earlier, about certain detach from this “industry,” following though.  Embracing what I always state, about living “the writer loving wine.” As that’s all that I am.  I’m not pretending to have the scientific acuity of a winemaker.  But I do have A palate, one I find legitimate.  So, if I do make wine, it’ll be from that platform.  And I’d need my sister as partner.  And she’s as much a consumer as this penner.  Leaving till 2morrow, where I’ll insert another verse.  Was so busy 2day, I barely touched the little pages.  Shame.  When I DO have that office, all I’ll do is be in front of page.  Putting some of 2day’s tip money [if I got any, can’t remember was so frenzied..] into the envelope.  Probably thought I forgot about that, no?  Well I didn’t.  It’s all for the office.  No more wasted days.  Honest time, 11:21p, and I need to think about sleep.  Not ‘cause I CAN’T write anymore…  Because I’m tired, quite SICK of my writing.  Bona sera.

 

7/7/12 – Saturday.  My Thursday.  Back in VIP section today.  Still depleted from yester’s shift.  Need coffee.  May still feel ripples from Sauv Blanc.  Where’s my little notebook?  Hate writing rushed like this.  I’m hunched over, not seated, with towel still around waste.  One day, I’ll have an office, won’t have to write like this.  Give me a second…

Yesterday’s gratuities, if I received any, into office envelope.  Need to print pages, still.  Usually upset with Self when I write out plans, but this morning I feel it’s rather invited, permission’d.  8:07a, with mocha.  Thoughts from 7/6, about not pursuing the wine world beyond the page, still with me.  Putting all eggs in that basket, and in mean’s time, looking for what I, THIS WRITER, can get from my tasks, be it in wine club area, behind main bar, on a cave tour, on the mountain, or doing some marketing mission for another winery.  What I can I get out of it, how can I make it work for me?  And it will.  Have to praise Dad for imparting that thought frame.  Many of my father’s words perch themselves about my daily perception, reaction.  Actually, I texted him yesterday about flying, what’s really involved in operating an aircraft, especially internationally.  I’ll talk to him tonight, I’m sure.  Have some questions prepared, introductory ones noted, then go from there.  I want to immerse mySelf in THAT world, much more than wine’s.  What Dad did throughout his career had significance, meaning, and the character that Dan is, was when in seat left, was never dismissive, never indifferent.  He and I think much alike, probably as he was a Philosophy major, and I the English/Creative Writing/Lit.  He appreciated what he saw, from 35,000+ feet aloft.  More to come, reader, and I couldn’t be more excited.  Why haven’t I tapped DPM’s mind before for pages?  Shame.

Ready for day.  Not shying from any character, don’t care how entitled they are.  And to be honest, everyone I poured for yesterday was kind, loving the wine, showing their appreciation; getting me closer to office.  Shooting for 500 words, won’t lie.  And yes, I felt it necessary to note word count, as I don’t usually do it, and I want any, all writers–REAL writers, not tech-dependent “wine bloggers”–to know that I’m always writing, that there’s nothing more about which I think, entertain, fantasize; And that I’m always ARMED with a concealable notebook, ready.  The mocha speaks, tells me to write faster.  And IF I get a lunch today, to complete just one verse.  16 lines/bars, minimum.  One thing I wanted to note here, and not in book, is how many sippers commented on how awesome my job must be, to pour wine in such an unspeakably scenic scene.  This elevated my mood, yesterday, I’ll truth-tell, and it made me switch to writer mode while pouring, thinking “How CAN I make this work for ME?”

The Sauv Blanc’s finally left.  I need to leave soon.  And I’m ready.  Attitude more than empowered.  I’m Self-knighted, on quest.  For what?  Pages.  Dialogue. Verses.  And when I’m in my office, with 8+ hours a day at page, who knows how many works I’ll have done in a month, a year, by the time Jackie’s in high school.  I’m different, already, than I was less than 24 ago.  I’m renewed, recharged.  Refreshed.  Ready.

filtered to filter out filters

Moved blog entries that were written, or TYPED, for this blog, that I fell behind on and failed to post, over to the a book project.  Or “doc.” But this night, so far, quite productive.  Posted to both blogs, which is what I set Self to do.  1Stop just needs a couple more pushes, I’m feeling, in order for me to row completely in Autonomy.  More pictures, more photo journalism, selling the fantasy of wine.  Hate to confess, but the box taught me that.  And today, I learned that I’m the current top sales rep at AV Winery.  And if I can sell wine in the physical form, and over the phone as I did on 1st & Main, I can surely make my own brand appealing.  My brand: ME.  These blogs, writings, just my projects, my bottles.  And I’m the eternal Bottled Ox, standing in bottled awe of what wine does to those loving it, following it.  And to those from Literary seats, it magnifies itself with syllabic swoops, musically.  This is all Art, I now know.  Nothing I’m more passionate in.  Nothing.  Wine, Page …

10:25pm.  Still haven’t written any music, which irks me, a little more than slightly.  After this entry, no worry.  If I do decide to buy some Sauvignon Blanc berries, I am committing my Self to winemaking.  I say that’s what I want, and I do.  But the thought of using this stash saddens me.  WHY?  Don’t I want to make wine, remove mySelf from a role of always merely talking about it, selling it?  Don’t I want to be an Artist?  Why the quakes in my core?  I again see Pac putting a pen on a yellow pad.  Purism.  Now I realize, I need to buy this ton of SB.  But I need to consult with my sister to see what I should be paying.  Again, I state for this record, this diary, I need her.  I cannot, and will NOT, do this without Professor Kate.  Something I need to research: Sauv Blanc and malolactic fermentation.  Is this something I should consider, to produce a different, less metallic SB?  Have to research, which I’m more than eager to do.  AND, ask the “K” in MKCS11.

Now I move to that ’09.  Or should I open a different set of bottled song?  Not sure.  But either way, I need music.  My own, and what I can envelop Self in.  That’s what the Wine orders.  Looking at these bundles, need to count.  But maybe I shouldn’t.  Not till I have to buy the grapes.  But then I’ll always wonder, pester Self with not knowing, knowing I should have audited.  And I’d hate that.  Ugh, but that’ll take so much time.  Yes, there’s that much money on this table with me and the monster [my laptop].  This TV screen’s distracting me.  Need it off.  Need song, verse.  WINE.  Tomorrow, need to, at some point when back home, transfer some of these notes in the little notepad to the book.  One, which I just read, and completely forgot I scribbled, while sipping the ’07 White Blend someone brought for us to taste against our ’07 Sauv Blanc (at work, end of day, tasting Room): “Estimating Wine’s vastness, its entire article, makes me assume a defeatist’s guard…  Odd.” Just need a glass, ’09 Cuvée.  Please.  And music.  More poetry.  Endlessly.  Clouded, in Creative consciousness, shrouded, individualistically touted.  Sip … [4/28/12, Sat]

4/28/12: bottled return2WINE

Clocking in, 8:25p.  Twenty-five minutes after my desired landing.  Just finished dinner.  A carne asada/sautéed mushroom quesadilla, paired with a Racer 5.  Like I told Beth today, “I’m a little wined-out.” Received $100 in tips today.  By FAR, the most I’ve ever earned in “the industry.” So where’s it all going?  Into the biz stash, the one I can use.  Tonight, upgrading Pandora.  Also, buying some new music for sessions.  Just downloaded the pictures I’ll use for tonight’s postings.  And for the one project I want to finish, not sure how it’ll play out.  Thought to Self, “I’ll post 3 times to each blog.” But I’m wondering, what will that do?  I’m also thinking, “2Pac never had a blog.  Capote, Plath, Joyce, Poe.” So I then reason, as I have so many times prior to this paragraph, once to each “blog.” Then all to paper.  That’s real writing, what’s meant for a book, an actual page, not a screen, a click, a site.

Sipping the Racer, I think I need a writing movie.  I’m also thinking, since I’ve been on such a wine tasting run, I should return to last night’s ’09, of which I only had one glass.  Maybe one-and-a-half.  After close to 24 hours of exposure to Room atmosphere, cork removal, it’ll taste better, more coherent, I’m certain.  Today, scheduled a meeting with Kaz, finally.  For this Thursday, 5/3, 11am.  Talking to him, tentatively, about a Sauv Blanc project.  See how it goes.  May have to use some of that upstairs rubber banded bills accumulation for a fruit purchase.  Excited, honestly, as winemaking’s all I’ve been thinking about lately.  And to couple that lifelong stroll, a winemaker’s trail, with writing, to journal it…  Who else is doing that?  What other winemaker’s a Writer first, winemaker second, and making quality wine?  That’s me.  That’s where I enter.  Even my sister can’t claim that.  Nor Kaz (even though my brother is tremendously artistic, with his photographic prowess, present and past).

Need to find my Comp Book, count the stash, buy music…  Time, 9:06pm.  Hope I have enough time tonight.  Was moving a little slow this morning, from all the wine last night.  Not letting same happen tonight, tomorrow.  So, the writer’s sipping slow.  Every time Tupac’s mentioned on TV, in some documentary fashion, there’s always this handwritten font, expressing the significance of putting ink on paper sheets; songwriting, poetry purism; like that’s what epitomizes him, what he represents, which is completely TRUE.  I want to be known for the exact same.  A pen.  INK.  Not pushing keys, some ridiculous blog site.  Just a random thought I had to record, now, typing keys on this little monster laptop, for my blog.

9:10pm.  Stash and Comp Book down here with me.  Have to say, I’m somewhat proud of all this cash I’ve managed to save.  Want to put it into a formation that will generate more revenue.  Little Jack’s depending on me, so I need to make sure no mistakes are made.  Should I buy a ton of SB?  Have to start somewhere, right?  This writing, entailing no overhead.  At least my approach.  I’m an Artist, free from currency’s contingencies.  But if I want to Self-publish…  Is the Wine more important than the writing?  Never.  Now I don’t know what to do.  Maybe this blog, and others, could be more useful than I earlier estimated.  But that confronts, DIRECTLY, my faith in paper over screen, site.  Need to think, write my way through this, yet another, stall.  Where’s that ’09…?

swirling track

Why do I love Sonoma Valley?  Places like the Vineyards Inn.  A wine location, a place to just get together with a good friend, and enjoy discussion, company.  Met with a friend of mine, Miguel, to talk about everything from wine, to writing and publishing, to Life in “wine country,” to Artistic integrity in the business world.  He had a Sauv Blanc, me a Cab.  I was romanced by the layout of VI, probably ‘cause I haven’t been in a while.  During today’s frequent, Miguel and I also talked about how difficult it is to make it in the writing world.  Finally someone who understands the scribe’s struggle.  And, while sipping my AV selection from their list, I thought of what wine does to those with appreciation for words written.  The bottled magic intensifies the adoration, speaking for Self.  Sure my brother Miguel would agree.  And the conversation, what novels, and books of other genres necessitate.

Back home, little Kerouac sings his newer songs to me.  Maybe he wants to collaborate.  It’s possible that this little character is his own varietal.  Everyone says he looks like me, but I have to disagree.  Surely, his own entity.  One singular, previously undiscovered.  And, this harmonizing son, Mr. Jackie, his own story, script.  Tonight, tasting another Cab, while furiously frolicking in these Comp Book’s sheets.  Didn’t get around to buying some Syrahs, as I’d conspired.  Am I familiar with tonight’s bottle?  A bit, yes.  And I’m leaving the AVA, producer and vintage away from this entry, intentionally.  I’m going to address the interpretation of this Sonoma Valley Cabernet; It’s voice, character.  First, it’s shy.  Well, either so, or intentionally withheld.  It wants me to follow the smoky berries to it maze finish.

A tad tired, as I’ve already session’d far past 1000 [words] for day.  But the Cab capsules me in colored courage.  Still need to print pages, but I’m comfortable.  May have conveyed such dilemma, predicament, before.  Topic next…  Work tomorrow.  Tours, tasting Room, possible library tasting.  Need more unfamiliar wines in this notebook.  Travel would bring that, but I have to exercise patience.  Life story, for this writer, anyway.  These barreled writings, ordering me to release them.  Bottle them into a book.  But after my talk with Miguel today, addressing everything from paper costs publication trends, I need tell the sentences to tightly sit; be patient with ME.  Sonoma Valley’s vines, budding–  Ready for eruption…  My books, equally.

9:48pm.  The wine, now, telling me to leave the page, walk away from session.  I don’t agree.  Is that bad?  Why would this be going through my head, now?  Especially after the discussion I had at Vineyards Inn, completely wrapped in writing.  Why would this wine advise something so awful?  Probably just in my head.  I’m translating the character wrong.  More sips…

Staying in chair.  This Cab, whose fruit itself houses just down the road, in valley’s heart, concedes it’s toying with me, testing me as a penner.  I’m just listing odd descriptors at this point, anyway.  Letting it win–  Oak’d smoke rope, black cherry ghost; illusionary flavor fog, tantalizing tannic tornado; cushioned night spice, rustic raspberry romance; alliteratively tangible taste illusion.  I’ll toy with her, returning.  Wine escape, for ink’s sake.

[4/6/12, Friday]