5/6 & 5/7, 2012: II – referm

9:25am.  Has to mean something that I woke this early, came to this spot so prematurely before work, just to WRITE.  Has to…  Over 34k, so far, in book idea.  Not going to call it “project” till it’s done.  I am over 1k for day, though.  Music, still playing.  Should probably scribble some verse before I go in.  Shouldn’t I?

Wonder how the event went last night, at winery.  Sure I’ll have a recap, of some kind.  Still seeing cyclists.  Have my little notepad in back pocket, will try to translate/work/mold this recurring symbol throughout day.  One cyclist, in one of those nearly-horizontal bikes, with a yellow tarp, or covering, around him, completely.  Odd.  Completely odd.  But who am I in judging?  I’m the one pulled over, typing in his car.

Why does time pass so speedily when I’m writing?  Need more time.  For this entry; For book; For Jack; For EVERYTHING.  Can extend time/Life with running, biking.  Don’t know if I’ll get off early enough tonight to go for a run.  Maybe I need to wake cruelly early tomorrow.  No wine tonight, to give it serious attempt.  9:31am … To pen, ink; paper, lines…


5/7 – 10:04pm.  Driving home, and once home, thought about nothing but winemaking, writing.  Finished the last of the Matriarch, ’08 by the way.  Only thing distracting me, Jack’s increasingly elevated orations.  Mom came over tonight, bringing some of her famous enchiladas.  Rather spicy, this occasion, which I wouldn’t like if anyone else had it prepared.  But her fixing of such a screaming dish, masterful.  Nice persistence in all notes, unique texture, and it went well with the ’08.  Although, I will admit, I needed some of the Geyser Peak Sauv Blanc she brought over, after some bites, because of the fiery flexes.  Another example of wine, family, pairing in perfect persistence.  I plan on continuing the night’s session.  For which project, I know exactly.  Not disclosing exacts, as I don’t want to curse anything; What I always seem to do.

With winemaking, all I can do is wait.  I swear on my son’s soul…  I deplore waiting.  Something I loathe more than bigots.  More than classists.  More than political pundits.  In the tasting Room today, towards shift’s conclusion, two characters entered with palpable self-assurance, -ascendence.  While tasting, they asked the same questions repeatedly, after I the same them answered, quite curtly.  Then, they let their reactions be known, with obnoxious audibility.  Citing every “nuance” they could find.  “The tannins in this vintage are much more angular than the ’07,” one of them said to other.  And they kept on, on, on with their Wine Spectator-esque-ly simplistic dissection of the wines.  Felt nauseous listening to them, so I went to pour extra for the two older ladies from the East Bay, two sisters who came to replenish their cellars.  So, I also entertained on 101’s South: Why does wine keep some so sweet, while making the antitheticals so abhorrent?  Wine shouldn’t be so complicated, no matter how bedazzling it tastes.

My account balance, lowering with alarming self-suffocation, endangering the “wine biz stash.” No more coffee brothel visits.  And yes, I blame them.  Making my own coffee, tomorrow A.M.  Why I’m not having another nightcap now.  Almost done with a song in the Comp Book.  Need to do a reading.  Are there any this Sunday, after work?  Two brownie bites, my cap.  Never used to have a tooth so sweet.  Tomorrow, a run.  Affirmably necessitated.  Will run so fast it hurts my Self.  And why, thou asketh?  So I can be ALIVE.  I need be, to WRITE.

Still a bit warm, in this condo.  And it’s supposed to be even higher in temp slaps, come morrow.  Over 90, it’s prognosticated.  2012, hopefully a fantasy vintage, for me as winemaker.  And writer.  This Sunday coming, while in home, solitary inscribed, I’m looking to sips a flight, as I did that one night well before Little London landed.  That night, I had before me a 2010 SB, ’08 Sonoma Valley Syrah, and ’08 AV Cab.  This flight, I’m thinking, all Cabs.  Below $30 current.  Want to produce affordable “cult” wines.  Whatever “cult” means.  In fact, no.  I don’t want them to be cult.  Not looming for novel magnetism.  Just want to produce bottles.  Sell.  Be Autonomous.  All this wine I sell for other people, makes me more confident in my individualistic flounce.  All wine based, regularianly…