eventual pour

6/1/12.  So technically, I’ll be momentarily working backwards, inserting pages I scribbled into the little notepad from earlier.  Challenging Self to write 3 pages per day, for as long as able.  Updike feat, or something like.  Thinking this new opportunity in Sonoma Valley could be just what I, and more importantly my pages, need.  And now that I’m 33, no mistakes made.  None.  Not one.  Atop the mountain today, at SV Winery’s estate, I thought of wine’s world, what it could be doing for me.  Didn’t write a thing into my little pages, which were on person at time, looking out at what seemed like the world’s eventuality.  Doing that more often, lately; resisting compulsion to write every single moment into a page set.  What I’ve been more habituated to do: make short notes, if any, and save for actual sitting.  And I know winemakers do the same, as they can’t be with their fruit, with tank or barrel, in their labs around clock.  Going to set my alarm for 4:45am.  Let’s see how serious a diarist writer I am.  And that’s really why I’m doing this, why I think it’ll get me closer to that first flight in my diary’d travels, to test my writing Self.

4:55pm.  Definitely time for a beer.  Or should I resist that tug, make Self some coffee?  Doesn’t sound too appealing, with this heat.  As I approached 4th & Farmers earlier, I saw a temperature reading of 95.  Ugh, just thinking of that number raises beer’s approval rating.  I’ll be sure to sip slow, as Kelly would; She takes her time, when moving the brush side, side; to portions upper, below; She’s never stopped a painting once the first drop of whatever catalyzing shade she’s selected hits the void on her old stand from college.  She remembers taking it, promising to return it when her then-assignment was finished.  She never did, but only by accident; She was sidetracked, by a show in the city, at semester’s end.  Kelly wound up taking it home with her, and it just stayed in her parents house.  And now, in her studio apartment/studio.  She loves that thing, doesn’t regret her unintended “still-theft,” as she referred to it, in her journal, and to her friend Gabriella.

And me, stalling, always it seems.  But not today, tonight, and certainly not tomorrow morning.  Tomorrow, my last day at AV Winery.  Can’t believe it, but then with frolicking, singing, assurance most assuredly can.  It’s time for me to establish Self, here, in Sonoma Valley.  And I will.  Not only with wine sales, representing the winery, but with my ideas, everything I Self-paginate.  Bored with this session, already.  Need a topic shift.  And when in doubt…  Wine.  Katie’s and mine still develops in barrel.  Can’t remember if I logged here for you to read, but I did select the Petite Sirah for topping.  Yesterday, Lancaster’s winemaker, Jesse, told me he “always tops with something better.” So, after hearing him say such, and Katie agreeing with my favoritism of the PS, I’m quite secure in my selection.  Also, the Wine Bar idea…  Still in motion, especially after receiving an email blast from an owner of a nearby Wine Shop, with a small, quite remedial “wine bar” element [and yes, I didn’t capitalize the quoted intentionally].  If this clown can survive, self-employed, as a wine merchant, business owner, then I’m MORE than confident and convinced I’ll soon be doing same.  And where?  Somewhere here in Sonoma County.  OR, Marin.  Need to listen to more Wine Bar beats, brainstorm while sipping.  Do I have a file set aside for those thought swarms?…

Wrote a couple snippets of a verse yesterday, when I had time.  Did two tours, only, but they were back-to-back.  Then, to Mom and Dad’s for my belated birthday dinner.  While there with them, enjoying dinner, sipping, discussing wine’s currency, I had to reflect again on Collin.  Still can’t believe what happened.  And to someone so young.  Now, I’m of the true 2Pac Artistic/Creative ethic: locking Self in studio, staying at desk, keeping several projects organized, release-ready, just in case.  Hate thinking along these lines, so I need a break.  That beer downstairs. Tomorrow, 9am showtime in AV.  No 128 session, unfortunately.

Poetry, tonight.  And maybe in morning, as well.  No, I should start with the day’s 3 pages.  Then vortex to verse.  Just want to see the road.  Roads from 35,000 feet, with thin mists passing over engines.  Want to see everywhere.  Now, my life’s aim, target, agenda set: Write till your traveling, then write while traveling from your Writing.  Easy enough, I hope.  Let’s see what the IPA says.  Or should I twist one of the SB caps?  Decisions for this sectionalized writer with goldfish attention width, span, duration, value.

 

6:10pm.  Sipping IPA, #2, I start a file of “Wine Bar/Winery/Wine Biz Brainstorms.” First thing scribbled, on the folder’s inside-left: “Wine & Music!”.  I always think of Art, when wine’s on palate, most notably and obviously music; like the Thievery Corporation station I’m feeding into the Room while I type [via Pandora].  Thinking I’m music-obsessed.  A true addict.  See mySelf, right now, in my Wine Bar, just as we’re getting ready to open.  It’s Friday night, so we’ll more than likely see quite a sea of guests.  I’m in my office, sipping a Racer 5, finishing up paperwork before traffic doubles…  The station I’m injecting into my senses delivers such visuals.  And that’s what I need, to keep writing, Creating.  Imaginary, the pleasantly bizarre illusionaries.

Still hot outside, according to a FAA reading I just referenced.  But, not like earlier.  Reminds me of those summers in Sunriver, when I was younger.  Hate that I do that now, revisit memory as one aged.  Am I “aged,” at 33?  Either way, that’s one spot I’m hoping to somehow find on my writing travels.  Want to hike [not climb], bike, walk, photograph scenes, then return to the family base just by the North Course.  I’m also hoping to see Seattle, and go back to Vegas.  Will my spoken word verses, or this debilitating prose get me there?  It has to, honestly.  And what if I started cooking, and wrote a cook book?  Of course it wouldn’t be with authority, or expertise, condescension.  Just a diary of how I tried, what I came up with.  I remember in the Winter of ’09, when Alice and I vacationed in Sunriver with Mom and Dad, I prepared a couple plates.  One of them being stuffed mushrooms.  Hate always going out to eat, if I have a chance to say.  Once in a while, it’s fine.  But all the time…  Wasteful, unwise, not in any way budgetary.  What could I cook tomorrow?  …  Want to go with chicken, but I feel that’s too easy, a brick of simpleton.  Maybe a meat dish of some kind, with some steamed veggies.  There’s an idea.  And I can’t follow a recipe.  I’ll only let mySelf START with one, its fundamentals.  Should I be making a list of all these things I want to do?  No–  If you REALLY want them done, they’ll be done.  That’s why I don’t write throughout the day, as I used to.  Though, if I really need to scribble an idea, I’ll brandish the little book, pepper ink onto line.

Restless, before my final AV shift.  Have no idea why.  No logic to it, obviously.  Was just looking through an old Comp Book [2 before the current], found a colony of verses.  Don’t have the slightest notion as to where I start with these neglected offspring.  For once, I feel thankful for this “blog,” the immediacy it supplies.  Writing, that I just stuff into a notebook that find itself in a box, for who knows how many months, irritates me; epitomizing “counterproductive.” Is just wasteful.

Just passed 1300 words.  How’d that happen?  Should ask Kelly.  She knows more about me than…  Me.  And if I do jump into a Sauvignon Blanc tonight, I’m sure only more fantasies ferment.  Interesting connection, as this is all fantasy, in this wine frame.  Just checked blog, versus the writings I have in cue for blog.  Quite behind.  [10:46pm]

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mikemadigan

Writer/Blogger - bottledaux.com

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