Monday, August 29, 2011

125: Wake, Work, Run, Write, Wine

Punch-in:  9:07pm.  Truthfully, seven minutes late.  But, I’m the boss at MADAIGAN publishing/vinoLit, so...  The fog this morning, light in Bennett Valley, thickening for thought from upper Kenwood to Glen Ellen.  Busy at NWG.  Surprised, frankly, how well I did, officed, considering I was in no mood to be there upon walking though door, sitting at their keys.  Praise my sexy mistress, the Morning Mocha, for her palate massage.  Now at my monster’s buttons, I relax with the ’08 Syrah from last night.  Going to be decreasing wine consumption.  Both in quantity, frequency.  Why, running.  I’m finding it helps the aids the page in ways I’ve never made.  First race, less than a month in front.  Forgot to activate music for this sitting, one second...  Wait, sip first...
The second issue of Letterz should have a rough, rough, barbarically asperous sketch printed by my clocking-out this evening.  Who knows.  Still haven’t turned on a single track.  This quiet, calmly colorful, lightening spontaneity stillness.  Like today’s run; folded, unfolded in thought.  I remember beginning my run thinking, “Okay, need to have useful thoughts in these intervals, a thought menu.” My rationale’s road was somewhat linear, but mostly Cubist, not-so-coherent.  About a block from this castle, still in sturdy sprint, I thought: “Be scattered, that’s Aesthetic.  Don’t plan, that’s prediction.  Allow writing/wine/fiction/spoken word to land atop your lines.  What you remember is what belongs on a page.” Sure winemakers experience something similar.  Added to “Ask Katie” list. 
125 days left in the year, life of this log/bog, this day tallied.  Toward what am I writing?  Easy.  Books.  Not blogs, some wine social media table.  Books.  Novels.  Collections.  Characters on paper.  That’s what I studied.  That’s what Plath, Poe, Pac did.  I don’t prophesy.  I promise.  And what I’ll have by this year’s end, a book.  One noted.  Respected in Literary levels.  Feared and respected about wine’s world.  That’s how I covet coming clocks.  Syrah swigs this evening blur all gigs in thieving.  Study my Now, you’ll see my scene.  Sip ... Sip ...  8/29/2011, Monday  

No comments:

Post a Comment