rolling reading


The stand-alone pieces, my consciousness’, unconsciousness’, stream/s, all here.  Noted.  Each entry stands alone, alongside the next wandering expression set.  Why was I just looking at my phone?  Vibrating, call from work.  This hour, respectfully, MINE.  That pull from pocket, glance at screen, ate away maybe 15 seconds of vinoLit.  Moving on…  Excited to taste some Pinot in a few hours.  Why do I like Pinot?  Just from its contrasting saunter, its song.  The melodically defiant strokes of its character.  It’s doesn’t boast.  Softly speaking; a word whisperer.  She’s a flirt.  She talks, only to unintentionally leave you caught; smitten, bitten.  This mocha, a bit stronger than I estimated.  Need to sip slow.  Almost went to the wine bar across the street for lunch.  But, thankfully I was successful in not letting Self.  Can’t afford it, and that would have been entries never written, lost.

All about the writing, this journal, journals.  Blog, blogs.  Still have a problem with that word.  Since I started mikeslognoblog.  Why?  ‘Cause there are no actual pages, ones you can touch?  Well, in a matter, yes.  But it shouldn’t matter, I’m now seeing, really realized just a couple hours ago at my desk, with my cubeNOTES.  The writing is here.  It can be read.  If anything, more easily, readily, that if I traditionally self-pub’d.  Keeping the pen moving, at my desk, whenever I can breath.  What will those go towards, if not bottledaux?  The Bottled Ox doesn’t know.  Doesn’t need to, anyway.  Not right away, with overt swerves.

Think I have to be back in 12 minutes.  Why can’t I remember when I clocked out?  Tonight, at home, if I can, need to gather some photos together, or I want to, into an informal album.  For me.  To inspire pages.  Need to capture as many presents as I can before sinking into future, before they become pasts.

[1/12/12 – Th]

entries, poured

1/13/11.  Here, at the home desk, just before bed, Friday night.  No idea what to write.  And yes, I’ll admit I’m a bit slow from that ’09 Pinot.  But even still, my scribbling strut has stopped, stuck.  Not much writing today, outside the cubeNOTES.  Tomorrow morning, dedicating Self to mocha manuscripts.  Turning on “Secret Window,” which I’ve watched more times than I want to truthfully tell.  Has me thinking about sending off pages.  But no, I’m a self-publisher.  2 blogs, taking me to away, free, to stapled serenity.  This is completely Pinot talk.  What else does it want to confess?  (11:37p)

1/14/11.  How is it mid-January, already?  What’s I tell you about time?  Insensitive devil.  Just uploaded two posts to 1Stop.  Now, I get to play in the bottled auxiliary.  This morning, quite cold.  But gorgeous outside, kind sun.  Listening to some Wine Bar beats to keep me motioned.  The mocha, all but gone.  Let’s see how many sips I’ve left…  oh, none.  Okay.  Want to look into events coming up in the wine world.  I’m almost positive there’s one next week, at Enkidu I believe.  Could stop by on my way home. Love their Syrahs, Pinots.

Heard from Katie.  She’ll leave a sample of our Cabernet at Mom and Dad’s on Monday.  I know it hasn’t been that long, but I’m looking forward to revisit my inaugural winemaking project again.  Miss it like a child in separations.  As I remember, it could use a little more tannin, but I can be sure upon recollection.  Need to read some of my winemaking book today, take some notes.  Want to start getting ready early for the next harvest.  With the rain lack we’ve been experiencing, I’m not sure when bud break could be, or if you can even gauge such this early.  Where is my book?  Downstairs…  With it now in my grips, I realize I need to engage in meticulous study, note-taking if 2012 is to my first solo winemaking vintage, one to vend.

Found the little black, quasi-leather-bound book I bought.  Meant for winemaking diary-ing.  Need to log weather, each day day.  Short entries.  This will be my log of progress, discovery.  All steps to whoso cellars’ ignition.