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Spring ’18

17 Jan

thought

17 Jan

Day 1 is not Day 1.

That’s a perspective.

Change it.

Spring Into

17 Jan

First day of term.  Spring.  New year.  And I’m burning up in this new sweater.  Either way I’m with more energy probably than I need, ready for class and generation of new ideas, words back and forth with new people.  Why not be ablaze, today?  Or any day.  With friends of mine having loved ones fall ill, there is no time.  Some say, no time like the present.  No.  There is just no time.  So on this first day I’m in character… MY character, MY story, taking me to MY. Road.  People around me making copies and going back and forth from building to building, not sure where they are and asking others where to go.  Former student asking me where this one hall is, forgot the name.  Ashamed, told him I didn’t know but I thought it was behind the library, a math building.  All those other majors, and I know that sounds derogatory, are tucked in the old building behind the library.  I’m escaping, writing in my usual spot.  Department admin off to make more copies and I’m more ready than I’ve ever been on the first day.

Then I realize that every day is a first day, or at at least a new day with a new canvas, a new something, where you can use what you have in some different way.  The paralipsis is everywhere around me… Go, Mikey, GO.  I will, I am.  This new semester, can forget this, what I am right now and what I feel.. electrical storm in my creative ebb of ebbs.  We need to start this semester with wild vigor, start writing immediately.  And if not actually writing, then moving.  Doing something.  For us.  We are here for our stories and sharing our stories with the people around us is not only a kind act, but a furthering gesture.  Getting you closer to where you see yourself, and helping all around you as well.

Books at my right, only two of the required’s for term.  Emma by Austen, The Year Of Magical Thinking by Didion.  What will students have to say about these texts, the ideas I offer.  Like a film or novel, just at the inception… asking yourself, “What will happen?” We need to know but we also don’t want to know, or at least right away.  Little over two hours till I’m on stage, on front of the class, where I have to do my job but it has never really felt like a job.  Of course, you have those terms that are a bit of a challenge, but perspective… I always stress perspective with classes.  As that is what punctuates mood and vision, the progression of the story, YOUR bloody story.

This semester is a semester of semesters for us.  This new year, fires behind us.  Strength, forward, creative and defiance of any nay-say.  You know what you want… then start now.  Before we’ve even really started.  Teachers all around me, a bit frantic but with the same propulsion and smiley zeal as me.  Let’s all do this.  Let’s all only continue with daunting yes’s.  You reach a point in your story where the nay and anything that doesn’t elevate just becomes inadmissible.  Be there.  I promise you, that’s where the gems are.

First day of term.  The first day isn’t a first day, but a new chapter and page set.  What do you want?  What can you do for YOU?  I used to ask students what I could do for them, but I can do very little beyond generating ideas, and I only help, at that.  Self is where the paragraphs start.  Why have I not seen this in other terms, in the past, the way I’m seeing so now?  What does it matter.  I’m here.  Now.  With you all.  Let’s create not only a community in here, but a tireless yay-saying tell.  Of course, there will be challenges and some days where we’re not as fiery as others, but that’s life.  And life, is more than merely short.  It’s predicated on time, and time is curt, cruel. We fight back against time with time, how we use it and what we create for ourselves in its monstrous palm.

Don’t let there be a creative pause.  Just keep writing.  Don’t delete anything.  Re-write, sure… but never delete.  You wrote something for a reason.  You did something because in the moment you thought it warranted and necessitated, somehow.  Don’t pause, but propel.  Block the negative tremors from your immediacy.  You need be the tsunami of positivity and your own expanse of poetry.  I don’t necessarily find such thinking magical, but I do see it as something worth entertaining.  What’s the worst that could happen.  You make mistakes, maybe even mammoth ones?  So what.  You want to make mistakes.  Mistakes are invitations, often unintentional gifts from you to YOU.  In this new semester, gift yourself with perspective, and a bright understanding that you will make mistakes.

In a lighter light, thank goodness for coffee.  This room I’m in has suddenly fallen to a bit of a chill. Wonder if the AC is on, accidentally, or something.  I sip, and feel evermore ready for the first class.  Only abetting my creative positivism, this morning, since I woke and since getting out of shower and looking at notebook, what I last night jotted about notes and note taking… to always be doing so. More than tireless.  More than fanatical and fervent.  Then, what?  I don’t know.  I don’t have a word, or category for it.  I go blank.  I’m not blocked, just blank.  For a second.  Then another sip and I’m off.

Day 1.  What will life be in Week 18, or whatever the last week is?  We partially demand that now, through our actuations.  On this first day, establish your character.  Be present with all new ideas and words, pieces and practices.  Keep your mind, and the pen, YOU, motioned.  Tell yourself, “GO.” And keep going.  Defy pauses, and stay far from self-doubt’s audits.

(1/17/`18)

thought

15 Jan

Seek Newness, but

Embrace decidedly what’s

Already in your story.

1/12/18— 

12 Jan

In the mode and mood of a student, this morning.  Reading through some Kerouac poems, and short Hughes pieces as well.  I’m not in the wine character, not yet.  Even though I am here in the tasting room, writing looking down at laptop, on table that’s not even at knee level.  This morning has an odd profile.  Not sure how to translate it.  But, I want to write papers.  I want to take notes.  I want to study.  I want to pull all-nighters again.  Looking at fog through trees by Sauvignon Blanc lot.  What do I do with today? How do I get to Paris, write like my former student does against deadlines?  Today, I write bottomless from the bottom-barrel-bottom of my sight, sense, story and reality.

The cold brew I’m sipping through a barely functional straw aggravates me.  I’m a cranky student, just wanting to graduate… see my city again, for the first time since ’09, which would only be the second time in total.  I tell myself to calm down, like a winemaker visiting a collection of barrels and something tastes.. just off.  Don’t panic.  Pull a sample, go to lab, work with what’s in front of you.  At lunch today… write introductory paper on Hughes, for students this semester… more notes to self and— ugh!  Forgot to get new journal at CVS on Yulupa after getting this ineffective cold brew, or cold press, or whatever it’s called.  I don’t think it’s working.  I don’t feel that activity that I usually do from caffeine.

Kerouac in his association with truth and music, that music is the sole truth in our story.  Today, I bop around the property.  Around the tasting room and in the cave, readying for tomorrow’s event, knowing that at lunch I’ll get to write my paper— rhythmic rebellion, with grace and decision, concerning Langston of course.  My pulse is elevated, finally.  Ready for the semester… emboldened.  The best semester, ever.  For all of us.  All is musical, for the next 18 or so weeks.  Looking down at this laptop, I’m really looking up— to new chapters for me and anyone in the classroom with me.

08:57… Day barely in its revolution and order.  I’m there with it.. just in incremental inception.  Thinking.. how do I get to… never mind.  Reading, noting, planning yes but more actuation that tenure at a drawing board.  Our literature, as students, is not theoretical, or something intangible.  It’s happening right now, transpiring in front of us.  This is only a reason to be enthralled.  Study your own steps, madly.  Be tireless.  Like my former student, completing her, I think, 14-page paper, expression an intersection of excitement and exhaustion, hunger and wonder (my read of the scene, anyway), I’m in task.  Burying self willingly under pages of past masters and mine own.  A prime precipice.  Only opportunity.  So I dive into anything I can read, all on pages all.  This is more than a simple mood, and definitely not a mode, I can now see.  But, rather, an order.  A new order, ordered.  I’ll never be caged.  I’m a bird, and I am meant to be aloft.

Clocking in.

8 Jan

Starting day.

Throw me whatever you think will rattle me, Monday!!!!

this Monday…

8 Jan

Sat to write some verse this morning, but the sequencing isn’t as I’d like.  So I don’t force it.  This coming semester, don’t force writing.  You can’t.  And don’t attempt to force understanding from texts, either.  Yes, there is a deadline with an assignment, but nothing should be forced.  Change your approach, your view, your mood, your sense of truth.  See what happens.  Record what transpired and share it with your colleagues.

Monday… motivated by the manuscript of the day, be.  Tell yourself that ‘I don’t accept the typical Monday perspective.’ Tell yourself that today all WILL be done differently, and for the sake of your advancement.

Rain falling in Sonoma County, and it speaks to us.  Tells us to be our own storms.  To not stop, to be defiant, to be more than merely brave, but utterly and creatively separatist.  This semester coming up will be your best ever… your most “successful”.  Start keeping a journal, now, for the Spring ’18 term.

Just like that… verse done.  We’re all students of life, each day and morning, be it a Monday or any other day.  Tell yourself today is all yours.  Even if you’re at work and you have some tyrant of a pig-supervisor, they CANNOT tell you how to process their barks, what they say and what’s around you and how you let the rain and whatever day-ingredients into your inner screen… YOUR book.

This semester is a term of YOU-writing.  YOU-learning, YOU-reading.  YOU.  All decisions and movements, words and lines, sentences and textual reactions are YOURS.  Just entertain the idea if you don’t want to assimilate it immediately.

Should have woke earlier, but I was out from pillow and sheets when I was.  Bring me to another thought before semester ignites—  Grieve not over what you lack or didn’t do, but rush and create from what’s in your story, on your plate.