Posts Tagged With: Creative Writing

Latest St. Francis Visit, 9/29/15

IMG_8885So I finally had the opening in my schedule to visit St. Francis, the winery I’d argue that started everything.  And I mean EVERYTHING.  My passion for and relationship with wine, my family’s involvement with wine, and everything wine in my life.  I walked through those enigmatic doors through and under the bell tower, and to the bar, where my old friend Ronnie was pouring for two or three sizable groups and managing everything with a fluency and assiduous momentum that anyone in hospitality would envy.  My flight took off with the Sauvignon Blanc, a 2014 which showed all the versatile and vivacious qualities I look for in an SB, a bottle with not just a peculiar persistence to its form and fold, but as well food-pairing capabilities and a stern collusion of tropical qualities and texture.  Then the Estate Cuvée Blanc, a white Rhône blend which I’ve always enjoyed an not just from taking to white Rhônes perhaps more than others in Sonoma or Napa do– it’s just a finely revolving and musical white wine, with that acidic subtext and slight oak influence that grabs the sipper and instructs on a different way to converse with white wines.  Then the Chard which I always love, then a storm of reds Ronnie insisted I taste.  I tried to stop him but he wasn’t hearing it–  the IMG_8889RRV Pinot, then the ever-famous Behler Merlot, the Lagomarsino Cab, Rockpile Red– everything telling me I need to fall deeper in love with wine and its story and stay close to St. Francis as  a winery and why wouldn’t I as it’s always teaching me something new about wine and certain blends and varietals, and something even more rewarding about me as a wine-riled writer and how to see wine in my life.



St. Francis started out as a dream of founder Joe Martin and his wife Emma.  I’ve always found their story and path compelling and telling to me, one always scribbling alongside what I sip and intersecting me with magnetic and encouraging people like Ronnie, and all through this industry– only the positive and the love and family-sewn story that brings people over that small bridge from the parking lot and through the doors under the so-known tower.


Once the tasting was over I walked around a bit, out on the patio and to the lawn, and around the parking lot a couple times, just thinking and remembering all the family moments precipitated here, and where I am now with my wined life, and how it all started in that tasting room, on both sides of the bar.  When I used to pour with Ronnie and now just as an obsessed patron; one with a near-cult paradiddle to his ideations and speech whenever St. Francis lands in the conversation.


While finishing my entry here and remembering my latest elbow-on-bar scene I sip the Merlot, the ’12, one you’d find at several stores in this area and elsewhere.  Dad used to tell me whenever he was on a trip and he wanted a bottle of wine he’d go to a local wine shop, always look for a “Frannie red”, he’d say.  And it’s obvious why.  Nothing nears this phylum and forward of grape interpretations, red or white.  So I take another sip, find my Self in and on a new flight.


Categories: mikemadigancrEATive | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

MOCK SOMM: Sanglier Cellars, Sonoma County, “Touché”, Grenache, 2012

IMG_7923It had been a while since I last tasted the Grenache from one of my favorite little producers in the county but I thought it warranted, last night just wanting to have something a little different.  It wasn’t too hot outside as it had been and the commonplace SB or Chard didn’t hit me in thought and meditative angles.  “I need something red and celestial, gentle but assertive in certain corners of the palate,” I internally intoned.  So I pulled the last Sanglier Grenache from my cellar.  And immediately I was riled by the spiral of earthy red fruit, meaning mostly raspberries and pleasant medium-red jam-reminiscent tremolos that talk to the palate and encourage those second-looks which aren’t bizarrely over-analytical, or even analytical at all.  That’s not why I opened it, I didn’t want to be a wine critic and I didn’t want to be critical, I just wanted a charming musical soar of a red and I was sure I’d find it here in Sanglier’s translation of Grenache.  And I did, oh… I did.  Small run on this bottle so I’d get some soon, if I were you.  Just don’t buy too much.. this writer needs some more.  [JOKE?]  And with the food I’m used to ordering or enjoying here in the writerhut, like Mexican or light red pasta, or even a burger from this place my wife and I love down the street, it’s perfect, versatile and vivacious from sip one to last.  The blend on it’s 75% Grenache and 25 Syrah, so it’s linear in its note sequence of the fruit complexion and tempered oak talk, but not in any way simplistic or plebeian.  This is a bottle that any Rhône or red adorer should have on their home shelf.  Perfect beat and bravado but as I affirmed nothing excessive in volume, or ‘voltage’ as I sometimes say.  The Touché will have saying to yourself, “Touché”, a bit seductively startled that a Grenache could have such depth and amorous modes.

Categories: MOCK SOMM | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Another Island

IMG_8805 Wine, today was all wine.  But as well, a return to running.  6.2 treadmill miles today, then home to shower before the crushpad, where the Cabernet, the last Sanglier lot as I understand was crushed.  Now the writer’s at home, battling several distractions but here in the homestudy writing about the day and how it only moreso convinced me I’m a writing/running winemaker.  Tomorrow morning, although I’m sure the wine will still be felt, I’ll be writing and journaling, inventorying all.  The run is starting to catch me, a bit, but not as much as I thought it would.  Must still be in a bit of shape.  After the 6.2 I took to the basketball court to shoot a few.  But not many.  I know Glenn would call any minute and ask me to come to the press and I did and he later messaged me to be at this house for the wine club/employee/grower event at his house.  Myself, didn’t sip much, but there at home I have surveyed both the La Rochelle Chardonnay and the Selby Merlot.  Not aiming for any level of effect but just to be in wine’s story– the write can only think of how many weeks are left in the semester and how much longer he has to wait to launch both the startup and the website for ‘mmc’.

Smelling the other fermenting wines in that room, one of the barrel rooms showed me what wine can IMG_8812do to senses and the story, how it’s perceived by a writer like me.  A writer– like me.  Down comes Alice, what haveth she to say– “Where’s my ipad?” Then up she goes, pointing out to the writer how big her stomach gets.  I remind her she’s pregnant which is unnecessary but I do to comfort her and she smiles airingly and I can’t help but imagine my little girl here in this house, crawling around like Jackie used to in the condo.  Wine is family, and a family business.  So I need to push harder with mmc and vvv.  There are universes and solar strokes nearing that I never before pictured.  So here it is, what the writer has always wanted and I can’t be slowed even for a minute– I should be drinking coffee right now no worry I will in the morning keeping my story going and all these short stories and narratives involving and revolving wine and winemaking and wine drinking, what the grape says to me, leaving behind the bloody adjunct de-signification, how they lower us and throw us where they need us and– no matter, this semester, F ’15, will be a bold forward in my wine label’s methodology and bottle titles.  Already have one thought of , the “Adjunct’s Succession Blend”.

IMG_8814Now, for cap, the write sips his Lagunitas bottle.  Then I need bed.  A fine rest for the writer and a sturdy state for the winery, Arista, come morrow, where I know I’ll taste more wines, Pinots, and a Zin– oh and that Chard, maybe two.  The writer’s exhaustion him catches but the book grows and I hope to be on the Road soon with my little pages and whatever pens I can steal from the plane and hotel– simplicity in my saunter and syncopation, my synapses rile in new realizations and thought so going back to Mendo someday soon and confronting that tight-greasy-faced pig that rejected my writing pulse, telling him something like “Oh I’m doing fine, I’m writing.. and what are you doing?  OH.. still teaching English at a community college?” And yes that sounds vindictive and petty, ‘cause it is. It’s warranted.

Then I calm down.  It’s the weekend, if I even get those.  Do I?  The downstairs of the Autumn Walk IMG_8824base, quiet, and me with this laptop on my lap and my family upstairs asleep except for possibly Alice who took a nap only a handful of hours ago.. provides the writer some pause, some collection, and another sip of this Lagunitas Sucks– was tempted to have more of that Selby Merlot, but the writer’s done with Merlot tonight, done with wine.  Beer’s what the character craves.  And another cruise through the day’s stills.  So I deep breathe, hear the back neighbors but ignore them, already fantasizing about the coffee– oh, I should make some now, and I would, but I know that would anger Alice. I should be upstairs now but I’m a writer with a flurry of character quirks.


Categories: mikemadigancrEATive | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Merlot Parcel Persona

IMG_8793Later at night I enjoy a Thumbprint Cellars Merlot and go into my wined visions, me making wine and the type of Merlot I want to make and starting my studies of wine on everything from alc % to tannin, to TA & Ph, oak, filtration, anthocyanin.. skin treatment, everything.  But I also just enjoy the wine and let it talk to me, what its poetry concedes and convinces me of, the integral intermission of its layered and positioned dialogue about my senses.  My winemaking Comp Book (started today) is over there, on the counter, alongside the glass full of Merlot so I don’t drink it too fast– my rationale: as it’s far from me, I have to rise, sip then return to keys.  And I don’t want to sip quick, I want to listen to its speak, this translation of ’12 Merlot.  And no before you expect me to I’m not going to gallop on with these sentences in how heralded 2012 was.  We all know that.  I’m in this moment and I’m letting the wine wheel away the writer..  no over-analysis or diatribe, or score for this ‘TC’ Merlot.  Just know it’s talking to me and I’m listening, something these self-anointed wine sages need IMG_8792more do.

Jackie asleep already with his mama, on my side of that delightful set of sheets atop the all-solving mattress.  So the writer has the couch.  And I’m more than at peace with such, as he’s with Mama.. his mama, and the way he falls into her hold is something I can only smile at, and all the more reason I need be closer to home next term, next year.  No more of these colleges taking me from my Autumn Walk base– no, no…  They didn’t take me.  I let them take me.  But not next term.  Next year motions the family businesses.. the blog, the publications, all wine-wound, then the winery.  Small.  3-5k css/yr.  Another sip of the Merlot, see what talk it now talks.  And I’ll offer no critique.  Only more listen.


Categories: mikemadigancrEATive | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The next morning, odd

vibes and vertices about the day’s development.  Just came from the crush pad where Glenn showed me the Syrah pressing, next to the Grenache and Mourvedre add, for their Rosé project.  The first press or “rain” as I thought of it of Syrah was darker than you or anyone would expect from a Rosé effort, nice thick strawberry and cherry, wild berry rile to its presence, while the second rain was IMG_8662lighter and with more wildness to its fruit quality, almost like a (though I hate the word) tartness.  Britt and I went to see what the brix was on the GR/MV co-ferment.  About 24.6, if I remember right.  Then they press that and add to tank, but it seems this vintage there is a concern with juice.. all the more to my winemaking momentum.

At the Starbuck on Hopper, which had the longest line I’d ever seen here, so far, since my consistency of visits, taking nearly 15 minutes to get my mocha and sit here for my morning words and expressions, musings or whatever you’d want them to be tagged– my visions and dreams wander sitting here thinking about the wines I’ll make and how I’ll write about them, what my sister and parents and everyone would think.  What Doug, my lunching friend from yesterday, would think.  And my other projects…  Would love the whole day to just STOP, focus, get done what I need.  But now I head to Arista where for sure there’s only more content.. more and more and more than I can handle but somehow I’ll find a way to press it out like this morning’s Syrah and have it settle in my barreled prognostications, measurements of a literary life and winemaking anchor-theme..  Like I always say, I’ll write everything for the day, everything and show my readers, you, what I see in this wine world, the conversations and what’s said, everything from a worker’s worry of what’s on the schedule, who they have coming in, do we have enough bottles open, to what time does the wedding start and when do we close (if we have a wedding).

The slow nature and character of this coffee hole continues, with people collecting and pocketing just in front of me, mostly with scowls about, wondering what the hell is taking so long and will they be late to whatever.  And many have the day to themselves today, normal people unlike me as it’s Saturday, and they frown and frown, and roll their eyes when name called.  I sit here and laugh below the moving characterization of surface, wondering how the rest of my day’s to go.

Now all these flies fly around me for torment or amusement, I’m not sure, but I’m annoyed and wonder what else the day plans on throwing at me–  Started with the sun in my eyes, so much I had to lean my head out, on San Miguel.  Then again on Hopper causing me to nearly miss the crush pad– 

And now someone sits next to me.  Leaving.

Categories: mikemadigancrEATive | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

El Work (coffee talking)

Cup 2, earlier this morning.

Cup 2, earlier this morning.

Waking this morning to be in the Kick Ranch vineyard, to shoot and blog and write about the pick– but no one there.  Glenn held up at another site and me driving around Kick looking for him.  No blame, no blame at all!  In fact, at one point I was quite lost and turned around in that pitch black stage and somehow finding my way out.  Proud of myself for solving that little vine block puzzle.  Not sure how, only time I’ve been out there with him is during day hours.  But what a world and dark universe, stage it is out there by yourself; no light and only random animals running ‘round you and across the road.  Jack rabbits, bobcat (saw 1), skunk (saw 2).  One rabbit, not at all afraid of my Passat creeping by.

So, I went back to sleep when again home, surprising Alice I was back so early, and thankfully not waking little Kerouac.  Just before sitting to these keys I thought about and nearly overdwelled on how tired I was, am.  But I wouldn’t let it stop me and I can’t as this Thelonious song plays, “Work”, he tells me something through his notes and rhythms and I can hear Beat writers past telling me to keep playing, keep writing, write till you find IT.  I’ll get in the shower around 10, then head to Petaluma for my 12PM meeting, then to the crush pad to meet up with Glenn and film more of whatever I can from the ’15 lenses.  Wine in everything in my thoughts.. and I do want to, if I can, get by Cellars of Sonoma to taste a bit and add to compiling content for the startup.. and individual pages today, clean the desk’s top, and organize further.. sooner than soon I’ll be in the office and I can’t let the overload or apparent deluge of content and to-do’s muffle or mute me or my progress.

Cup 3 at left, haven’t taken a sip, not yet.  More thoughts of selling wine creatively through the blog and through other crEATive streams.  And then my creative works, for ‘Mike Madigan, Author’, no forgetting that.  In fact, last night after the students at Mendo left I remained in the classroom taking advantage of the quiet and odd scene of the empty space and only me there still in my teaching position, sitting on the desk at class’ helm, one foot on ground and the other on the desk’s lower support bar.  And just wrote.  Week 5, done.  So now we see real progress into Time and what it put on a plate for me to work and suffer and write through.

Writings on wine.. the types I love and the types I avoid, and how to “analyze” wine or think about it– no, shouldn’t be a ‘how-to’ for any of it, I don’t think.  That’d be like someone telling me how should be listening to and appreciating this jazz.  Ridiculous.  Wine is music and it is a voice, a conversation between palate and flavored pulse.  It’s always yours and you should think of it and remember it so.


Categories: mikemadigancrEATive | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

MOCK SOMM: Taft Street Winery, Alexander Valley, Merlot, 2012

IMG_8603Usually I wait till the next day to write a reaction to a wine that catches me, but this one I have to write in the moment.  Never heard of this producer before but found it at a local wine shop and since my penchant for Merlot is always a-bubble, I bought it.  Opened it just before dinner letting it breathe for not that long.  I was looking for candor, true truth of Merlot and that’s what I found, a certain whirling and whimsical honesty in the wine and what it noted for my senses.  Purest texture and potent palate, from front to summation with darker fruit that you may expect, but maybe that’s the Alexander Valley talon landing.  Either way I’m smitten and swayed by its sequencing.  The type of Merlot that has me remembering travel and a more imaginative me.  And this Merlot does offer what I look for– unique varietal translation and a certain stubborn echo at sip’s close (what most would simplify and dumb to “finish”).

Everyone who knows me knows I want to get back to making wine, and Merlot is the varietal that coerced me to wine’s curve, and I’ve never backward stepped. So I dance forward and jig with this bottle’s janiform song.  Its complimentary duplicity in form and and palate is precisely what punctuates its uniqueness.  I’ll go back to that store, obviously, and walk with a few more bottles.  I measure with the structure of the nose and mid of this Merlot crafting it’ll go at least 7 years.  But there’s no possibility of any wine with this tier of strenuous orchestration lasting so long in my writing base.  So I pour myself another glass and don’t overthink it, and see what new chords the wine wants to play for me.

MM 92

Categories: MOCK SOMM | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

MOCK SOMM:  Cirq , Treehouse Pinot Noir, Russian River Valley, 2012

IMG_8350Waited to open this bottle, and I wish I would have waited longer.  Just to see what else it would say and sing—or more so, wishing I had another 11 bottles.  But this was a gift from Michael Browne himself and I waited for the right occasion, with family, greeted by a rich and prominent palate, convincing and determined with dark meaty fruit qualities and illuminatingly proverbial tannins.  Usually tannin address doesn’t concern me, as I’m looking for fruit composition and profile, but the methods by which these tannins align themselves with the berried tenacity is admirable, worthy of study and ode, the slow sips where you think about what the wine’s telling you—you listen, you let yourself be instructed and shown, shown and delivered to a higher stretch wine wined reflection.  You do nothing but sip.  And slowly.  Study.  Listen, see feel fall and get lost in the fermented translation ebb

This Pinot screams drama and theatricality, not to get attention or connoting that it’s over-extractedIMG_8349 or any intricacy overdone, but that there’s so much attention-deserving dimensions to every step and syncopation of the bottle.  It’s obvious Michael Browne has a precise aim with this Pinot project, just like with the circus and how it seeks to not only entertain but help you escape the clasps of mundane modes and muffles.  Here you’re being shown something, something with Pinot that hasn’t before been done or perhaps even attempted.  And what is that exactly?  Not sure—or, I am sure but not with any words presently to characterize it.  It was an experience, it was visual and vivacious, credible and coded in flavorful aggression.  Not sure how to get another bottle, or if I can, but if I ever do I’ll note while I sip—and that’s another note to note; this wine had the writer solely in sip sequence, sans scribble.  Which never happens.


Categories: MOCK SOMM | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

And like that, grading done. 

In the adjunct cell, 10:39, and have two full hours to Self.  TWO.  to write and be me and be free.. and I love this feeling to the point of treating myself to another coffee!  Need to upload content to teaching blog, but not after, or rather before, I write for Self.  When grading is done and out of the way, as you can see, my entire disposition and temperament is more optimized.  Look at me soar in this office meant to make me and all other adjuncts feel imprisoned.  Tomorrow’s my travel day, Solano and Mendo.. but I don’t have to think about that now.  At all.  And I’ll get to recording the grades I just marked around 12:30.. so just under two hours.  So I don’t have as much time to write as previously measured but the adjunct’s content, I’m alive and with my fire needed.  Had a bit of a scare with technology just minutes ago, when turning on the laptop all you saw was that segmented rotating wheel, the desktop would never land.  Just a reminder to use tech less, to write in the Comp Book more and build that content.  I’m cutting back on spending, no Starbucks visit this morning, as to save money for laptops, for Alice and I.  Not that I’m looking for an excuse to get one, I’m due anyway, but this is a reminder, this latest scuffle, to save more and hurry to buy, before it’s too late.

Talking outside, instructors full-time and adjunct, all disturbing me, and why, why do I let it, this, this campus and the adjunct life and the fact that I’m not in the vineyard or on a crushpad somewhere bother me?  I need to be with wine; making it and writing about all steps of the ‘making’ process which I like to now look at as more of a translation, of both vintage and site, the varietal and the Earth of that site.  I’m a head of my morning schedule and I allow my mind to wander and wonder but not too far, each thought has to be a solid standalone piece, right?  And THAT reminds me.. write another poem for the collection.  THAT, I will print, about fifteen copies to start and see how it sells.  The poetry of me during my busiest semester, ever.

Didn’t post the teaching blog write, below.  And I’m glad I didn’t.  Want the Solano students to see the post I put there for them and I want for them to seize the invitation to continue our talks.. but I can only encourage and then hope as the modern student and reader doesn’t want to take the time, I feel.. it’s quickness they want, the same immediacy of social media and email and a text message.  Which of course disenchants me, as you see.

Need to keep with my pace this morning and why do I keep telling myself what I already know?  Just saw a picture of some hands, in a vineyard and over a barrel, hand de-stemming some Cabernet in Napa.  Wish I were there, doing the same, making MY wine, showing how I [!!!] translate vineyard and vintage.  So I start thinking about 2016 and my deadlines, with mmc, the startup project, my writings and my daughter arriving in December, and the students and what I have to assign them.. breathing, finding Zen in the hectic hold of it all.  Easy.

Switching to the teaching blog, posting the day’s plan and the points I want to hit in my speaking, interact more and depend on student interaction less.  That’s many times where the lesson can fracture, when I solicit response and hear the air conditioner.


Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Only Turn (no edits)

11:32 and at Solano Community College.  Have interview with a grower and today I feel urgency and a roaring push in my character to make all this happen, everything I want with wine and with being a winemaker and wine writer and blogger and journalist.  And it all will, I know.  Just had some time freed on the calendar, and I’m going forward with my wined story, seeing the wines I’ll produce and the winery I’m at.. hard to find time to grade and write, but I’ll make everything happen.  And running?  Not sure.. have to look at everything.  Tonight Alice goes out to a birthday dinner with a friend of hers.. and Jack and I left to our Autumn Walk base.  He’ll play and watch his cartoons and I’ll plan, grade, plan grade write blog, measure and plan and be calm sipping the remainder of the Sanglier blend from last night.

Ready for my interview with the growers.  I think.  My approach will be to get into their characters and why they farm as they do, highlighting the connectedness they have with the Earth.  It’s quite interesting, actually, the whole reality and execution of sustainable farming.  I definitely notice in my own character that I’m more interested in the farming side of the wine world, how the vineyards are cared for and how crop is thinned, when you’re supposed to water and the like.  Need to call one of my clients and ask about something concerning.. nevermind.  Stay moving.. think I’m going to get some coffee really quick.. then go back to planning for class.. not stopping for anyone or anything.  I know what I want and I will get it.

Just sent email, now I’m thinking of other pieces of imagery, copy, video, anything for the wine startup, which is intended to “educate” I guess, yeah, but more so just share and distribute the loving reality that wine is and stands for.  Yes I see the value of scores from Spectator and Laube and whomever, but that isn’t everything, in fact it’s a small, small part of what wine tells.  Its collective story.

The great consolidation in my life had begun, and I can only feel an unusually elevated elation and free sense in this all.  The new open spot on the calendar, all the pictures I have dedicated to and for the startup, and everything else for my relationship with wine.. I see Jackie on the crushpad just as Glenn’s granddaughter was a week or so ago.  That’s what wine is.. it’s not sales obsession, it’s not self-anointing.  It’s genuine communication and again that sharing of stories and of loves.

Tonight I’ll be up late and tomorrow I wake early for content devoted to the startup.  There’ll be so many subscribers, I’m quite sure, and devoted readers, that next semester I’ll only be teaching one class.  No, two.  I want to keep my two.  I want my story, at its core, to be me as a professor, as that’s how I’m seen.  That’s what people call me, jokingly and endearingly.

Home, and posting to client’s blog, then the teaching blog, now this Bottled Ox’s blog.  Thinking about the interview today with the grower and how he, and his wife, started from nothing.  “The American dream,” he called it.  And it most poignantly is.  And wha tI want for my site, my .. what do I call it…..  I don’t know.  Not an ad agency.. not a blog, or–  A content shop?  Yeah, I guess, that is what I’ve been calling it, of late..  So a Wine Content Shop.  I’m dropping the word ‘marketing’ because — or maybe I shouldn’t.  My mind’s in a million milieux, scattered and somehow sane in wine, but there’s no wine to drink in this house so I have my night’s cap be a beer, while Alice is out with her friend for her birthday, with several other ‘mommy friends‘ I’m sure.  My little Artist, upstairs asleep, and I think of the students tomorrow and how to come at them– first telling them that I’m handing everything back, then lecturing on the colors of the novel, ‘Sur’, and what it does to modern readers, today, distracted by so much and so many levels.  What would Kerouac think if he were alive today, seeing everyone as they are, with their goddamn faces pinned to a little screen you can hold in your bloody hands? 

And there I was, just a second ago, checking my messages and accounts on my phone here in my home, here in the quiet when I should be holding to the peace I have before I have to be in bed.  This writer’s time is limited.  I’m imprisoned by my business, by my busyness.  But let it be, let it be so, and the TV plays on, I’m not watching, some reality TV my wife would watch.  Her “escape” as it were.

Alice on her way home, with some Thai leftovers.  And me, thinking again about the wine I’ll make, touching those skins and the juice, doing punchdowns by hand and pullups, like I did with Blair in ’13/  wine is my topic– and it’s more than that, my story and progression and how funny would it be if me, a writer/blogger, had his own label before my professional winemaker sister.  Not that I’m in competition with her, as there is no competition.  She’s pro, I’m merely a bloody dreamer.  I just think it would evoke and pull a couple a chuckles…

Alice just pulled in.. garage door open.. then closed.  Leftovers for me.. the writer is hungry, and wondering when he will be on the Road..

After eating I’m ore composed and eased.  Progressing like a wildly raconteuring penner.  I see myself racking into a barrel, I see myself walking my vineyard, I see myself 4 weeks after bottling my Merlot taking a sip after a two-hour decant.  And smiling, pouring for guests at my house, my new ranch in West, West Healdsburg.  Find my self in a poetic stammer and splinter into tangent.  this is just the beat’s exhaustion, the paino in my head telling me to continue in poetry and some pulse rhythmic and recited, the music going on and tempting me to awake stay, no more wine just words, and the pages and recitals, more to my collection, adding content for me not some stale gangly ad agency.     

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

Blog at The Adventure Journal Theme.


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,061 other followers