Collecting mySelf, written scatter, while little Jack collects himSelf in front of me. Is he dreaming? Hard to tell. Day off from the AV Winery. Feel a little guilty not working today, but I was told it’s fine. So, a day to collect on a number of fronts. The chapbook, moving along. Just moved over 1000 words into its borders. This morning, finished an entry I began yesterday between calls, and a 20-line verse. In Comp Book. See Self on a bus, driven from gig to gig. And yes I’m using that word, gig, intentionally, as I want these syllables more symphonic, soulful. Never stop being fascinated by bands‘ and artists’ stories from their tours and travels. I’d write about everything greeting my lenses, from a motioned vessel. Windows, views, passings. Crowds, reactions, feelings from performing again.
Love this sitting, beside the little thinker. Right now, although asleep, he’s posed as if in midst of solving something. What? Does he want to write something, if he could? Such a fascinating little character, this son of mine. A son. I have a son. Didn’t write about him until the early morning of his birth day. In fact, a series of paragraphs to him, more than a half-day before we actually met. Why, I don’t know. Guess I needed to see the character, or be in his presence, or be in the presence of the precise locale where I’d initially become forever linked to his being. Any sense? Confused? I am, too. Either way, I started to write about him in the exhausting hours at the hospital, between 1 and 4am, listening to music, and, OF COURSE, sipping the most fighter jet-esque coffee the nurse’s station had to offer. He’s still with lowered lids, this little varietal, my wee charismatic blend.
Speaking of wine, all that’s vine-y, the Particular Palates are coming over tonight. A delayed opening of that sparkling is sure to occur, and I say “delayed” as we were meant to do so the night of little sir’s birth, but never got around. Too smitten and enamored. What wine do I want to open? Not even sure what I have in there. Pretty certain there’s an ’08 Merlot from St. Francis, can’t come even near to speculating what else. Either way, will be nice to taste with them again, talk about what’s aloft in their wine journey (besides the fact they’re traveling to Europe in a few weeks, the Swiss Alps, I think). Jealous. Again, I need a trip, a wine/food trip the very same. Sorry to ramble, reader. This is what Mr. Jack Patrick does to my momentum. I could just type forever with him here in the room with me. He makes it a Room. One for the session.
Have to see what I have in that little fridge. One moment… So, an ’02 Sonoma County Merlot, S.F. An ’03 S.F. Syrah, Sonoma [’03? … Yes, checked.], and that ’07 Alexander Valley Cabernet, Stryker, that I scored recently. So we have options. Dying to see how that Merlot is holding up. A little frightened of the Syrah. But, it’d be good to see, taste and learn. Just noticed, I’m starting to use the word “and” more, instead of cataloguing with comma swarms like I always do. I’ve successfully annoyed my Self with my writing style. Excellent. Anyway…
Haven’t done too many library tastings in my day. Don’t have the time, now. But, once on the road with my words, I’ll be sure to order older vintages. The way wine develops, how it changes shape. Sometimes it’s not pleasurable what shape you taste, but either way it’s an experience. Like a book from favorite author, that’s how I see it, coming back to my vinoLit perspective, which I’ll never abandon.
2:31pm. Coming back to page, I’m a little tired after lunch. So nice having a day to Self. The mini character, still in rest. Me, could use a coffee. Glad I didn’t remit another $5 for a mocha. But I’m sure I will tomorrow. Wait, why do I say that? If I want to put that money towards the writing I should, will. But they’re so good, especially with only 3 pumps, so it’s not excessively syrupy. Yes, I should get one, as it’s expected to be pretty busy tomorrow with tour-and-tastings, and regular tastings, tasting Room pourings. With another winery’s exposure, I’m learning more about winery functionality. And not just for the writing, but for my label, when it leaves ground. And, with music always through my spot’s speakers, it would never go under, my little Parisian Café.
Clocking out. More gathering of writings and Self needed. And just in time, as Mr. Jack may be coming back to consciousness’ cradle. Too tired to continue work on the chapbook’s primary piece, a 15,000+ word novelette. Or maybe I’m not, can’t decide. More agglomeration, more freewriting. Quick scribbles. Could use a glass of that AV Cab right now. Its makeup, I’m sure, will push me back into my project, show my types new stripes, strokes.
Where’s the Comp Book? Want it with me when I taste 2nite.