one last note,


Was going to post a poem I wrote today, to this blog.  But that’s like throwing it away, I feel.  And yes, I’m standing by that statement.  I post journal entries to this “blog,” rushed writings.  Poetry, paginated Art, need a book.  Performance.  Maybe it’s above a simple binded paper brick.  I’m “cutting & pasting” it to another “doc.” Deplore all that tech talk.



Working a wine club event at St. Francis, tonight.  Excited, honestly.  Haven’t poured there in some time.  Tomorrow, at Lancaster, want to get there especially early, to shoot some footage and snap some stills for the other blog.  Want to start a Lancaster video/photo journal…  Ideas still fermenting…  Tomorrow, looking not just for growth in the buds, but development, new “nuance” [overused as the word continues to be], in what we pour.  Thinking of Paris, listening to this new station.  Want to walk along the Seine, over and over.  It needs me.  Well, maybe not.  But I need its views, bricked paths.  On the flight over, I’d finish a short collection.  Then, when there, write until I had more than I wanted to edit [which always seems to be the case anyway, like now..].

Had a dream last night about being in a maze with old coworkers from the box.  Everyone around me was in costume, as if it were Halloween.  One character, can’t remember whom [although I have a pretty good idea], was dressed in devil getup.  I remember him dropping his pitchfork, and me having to leap over it.  Was following “friends,” but I lost them.  At dream’s end, I encountered someone dressed as Mel Gibson from one of his movies, one set in the 18th century, or something.  Not sure if Gibson was ever in a film set in that period, as I can’t stand him as a human being.  Either way, the dream had me waking to thoughts of deception, industry and societal guises, rouses.

11:39am.  Had two cups of coffee, made in-house, this morning.  Energy, still very much with me, makes me think, with this station’s songs, that I should research places on my travel list.  If I can’t go there, to any of those there’s, now, I can certainly research, learn, immerse Self with Self-education.



Stirred this morning.  Thinking about last night’s wine club even, wine club members as a collective character, wine itself…  Off to AV early this morning, to clock in early.  No 128 session.  This all needs a new shape, I’m realizing.  Travel, new views, sounds, languages.  CHARACTERS.  Maybe I should rush-write my novel, just see what it does.  Need coffee.  And a new little notepad.  Will stop by drug store, pick one up.  Mocha, or home cup?  Wish I could just write the rest of the day, that a chair, ink, were my only commitment.  Today, only jotting notes; Think in whole sentences, write only partials.  Tonight, work from memory as best you’re able.  Don’t scold yourSelf if not every scene is “adequately” captured.  You’re writing for yourSelf, not some pompous wine industry magazine rack resident with a polished cover…  Artistry only from me.  Not predictable journalism.

Think I may need a mocha.  I’ll use some of the biz stash; I’ll have to, as I don’t want to use debit, disrupt my funds.  Besides, I’m well past my saving goal for the business, anyway.  Out door.  Clocking out to clock in, up there…


10:20pm.  Sipping the Petit Verdot/Malbec blend from last night.  And as I suspected, its structure has further settled in the bottle, and now on palate.  Today in AV, shadowed a trade tour with the owner, winemaker, and GM.  Learned more about the winery, which I appreciate.  And, probably even more substantially, more about their terroir that creates that Cabernet character; the more subtle, composed, musical Bordeaux.  Touched down on winery grounds at 8:30, left at 6p.  Long day, on paper.  But passed more than fast, in mind.  Tomorrow, I’m leaving as early as I can for a 128 session.  All to be typed, in standalone’s, for some Self-published effort.  All day, thought of poems, sovereign prose pieces for reading.  If only that were my commitment.  But then I thought, only minutes ago, right here, on my downstairs couch (one of them, the one directly in front of TV screen), “It can be, right now.  Just change everything.  Right now.  Just write.” Thinking wishfully.

Need more money for publishing bigger works.  Have to start with small.  And I want to start my research on other countries.  Today, thought of Austria (probably ‘cause Dad’s there), and the Czech Republic.  It’s the history, the developing value sets and thought patterns of Man that engage me into travel, carrying nothing but essentials; pen,  notebook.  Today someone asked me, when I told them ‘I’m a drinker with writing problems’, “What do you write?” I told her that I write about 60% prose, both fiction and non-fiction (then qualifying the latter with the tags “expository prose” and “erratic entries”), and 40% poetry-and-spoken-word-poetry.  Should have just said, “Diarist prose and poetry.” Even that I don’t like providing.  Why should I have to place mySelf in some category?  Why do I have to tell people WHAT I write, in a language they find acceptably plated?  I write, EVERYTHING.  I’m a WRITER.  And I write what I feel like writing, when I feel like writing it.  Maybe my attitude’s in the way.  Again.


When on tour, I will not allow Self to carry a laptop–  Stopping there.  No more saying what I’m going to do, promise lists, similar.  But, one thing I AM going to do–well, DOING–is my Sauvignon Blanc with Kaz.  Thought about quite a bit today while listening to Jesse, Lancaster’s winemaker, talk about the various projects at the Estate.  Was also triggered by owner Ted’s emphasis on the winery being non-corporate, independent.  Autonomous, able to manage every block and micro-block in the vineyard, having total control over the fruit going into the bottle.  Could only think of my writing.  My characters…  Kelly.  But I’m not sure I want total control over her.  Want her to tell me what to write, how to write her.  Is that excessive in demand?  She paints, even on oddly warm nights like this one.  I think of all the Cabernets in the lineup for tonight’s event, vertical tasting, at AV.  Left before it started, but I walked to my car thinking how all those other wines, and ours, are heralded so strongly.  My writing can only have paralleling prominence if I put it out there.  Which I will.  Now…

Details, for new pieces:  1) Cave, in AV, 2) Barrels in cave, 3) Buds, 4) puddles of wine on back counter, 5) lids on glasses set for tasting [containing aromatics, notes, character of wine], 6) vineyards I’m not familiar with, 7) traffic on 29, Napa, 8) corkscrews [not sure why, I just they’re neat, and serve such a loud purpose], 9) a microphone, reciting into it, people listening, 10) Petit Verdot/Malbec blend, darker than dark in my glass– Gorgeous.