Thursday, February 11, 2010

Pushing, Even in the Typo Cyclone

Thursday February 4th, 2010. Tasted another wine tonight. Will post the review tomorrow, or the day next, if I can. Celebrated my sister’s 29th tonight. How is that possible? She’s 29? Time is a vindictive vulture, pecking at my patience. Tired. Wondering if BOOK ONE will please readers. Should I care?
The wine I’m tasting tonight...can’t tell you, although I want to. Hearing Katie, the sis, talk about her winemaking life injects visions of stories. Need to interview her. Not as brother, but as journalist, writer, a professional. She made a remark tonight about how critics critique wine, correlating to the phrase of ‘those who can’t do, teach’. Precisely why this is the last term for me as adjunct English goof. Now, finally, a being of the pen.
Should I put this blog/log into BOOK ONE somehow? No. At least that’s what I’m seeing now. Forgetting what I wanted to record in these concluding lines. Tomorrow, I do something out of character. 31. Time to be crazy, Hunter S. Thompson crazy. Can’t put this sensation into literary shade. I’m bold, belligerent. The Anti again protrudes. My calls ferment in these entries. Who will hear them? Hopefully you, the reader, the one of note. No transformation, I’m the same, just utterly unchained.

F 2/5/10. 1k, reached. This, icing. Met a character today. Full-time Math Professor, Dianna. Didn’t go to college till she was 31. Had first child, a daughter, when she was 26. She used to wait tables. She had an epiphany about life, where she was headed, how her daughter would see her. Wonderful story.
All the characters around, all of them, wonderful. My freewrites should focus more on these random beings. Need to be a spy, always. Monitor behavior, trap dialogue. They work for me, although they don’t know.

Sun. 2/7/10. Only in the mood to do nothing. Think I lost a $10 tip that I received in the Room today. I blame my affair with Viogner for that. Seriously don’t want to write tonight. Saints won the Superbowl. Wow. I care. Interesting how much emphasis we put on sports. Sports are wonderful, but do they have the substance we think they do? Just thinking, and I’m grumpy, so I’m thinking straight, definitely not. Don’t want to do tomorrow, the early rise, then after class back to the Room.
The 100k master project is now an 80k aim. More poetry. Had rimes in the head all day. On Tuesday, 1) add 3k to master project, old or new words, 2) record 1 spoken word song. Easy, as I have the entire day to Self. Self-publishing, also threading through thoughts. “Poems and Entries,” a sequence unique to me, could be my first release to the world. 35-40 pages, 100 copy run. That’s affordable. Waiting for these fucking elitist lit mags to get back to me is laughable. Need to take this year, this life by the throat, and if you know my personality that is exactly what I’m capable of.
The Room bugged me today, tremendously. One guest actually poured himself wine, twice. Are you serious? I should have been at home with Alice, watching the pre-game show, relaxing. Instead, I get home and the game is more that half-over. But Alice, the bewilderingly caring presence that she is, had a lovely little spread for us. I’ll be quite candid, she has settled for far less than she deserves, with me. Why me? Why did she choose me? I’m selfish, career-obsessed. Won’t complain about my immeasurable and invaluable fortune.
The poetry’s back. Need to jump over to another document on this little monster. Most healthy of eves to you, kind reader. A little aggressive, so permit me please to voice the following...DEATH TO CRITICS, PIGS, MANAGERS, AND DEPARTMENT HEADS! That’s 333 words, and I didn’t prognosticate scribing more than 50-100. ANTI!

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