In the late night...
Back from a couple with my man Stan. Someone the other day said I should just do the wine and restaurant review on this log/blog, that I should leave out the other entries, the more personal purges. Really? Well, this may jolt you, but I don’t give a fuck what you think, devil, especially some non-artist chatterbox. I do literary wine reviews, and the pieces I wrote on “the fig cafe” and Meritage were ideas and praise that I thought worthy of record. Critics slither under my skin like tenacious ailments. You can’t infect me, devil. Many of my students today spoke of Mr. Van Gogh, his ethic and catalog, and instability. Maybe that was the engine of his genius, lunacy, unorthodoxy. Maybe such is the fuel of this Anti of the pen...
I do want restaurants and wineries, and hotels, businesses, that I review to note that I am an artist, and when I write about a staple in the industry, whether the valley be Sonoma or Napa, I do so as such. I praise Enkidu, Meritage, Imagery, St. Francis, as an artist, not a hired writer. Those spots, those treasures really, deserve praise. I do it of my own volition, not because they me paid. I do not write for hire. And if I do, it will cost. Integrity of literary fruition shall always be maintained, revered. Conformity, not forging me.
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