Back in tasting Room, tomorrow. Right now, sipping a 2011 stainless Chardonnay. Was surprised how warm it was on the walk around Spring Lake. Since being home, did some investigation on spots around globe. For writing, by the way. That’s really the only reason why I have this travel fascination illness, to write in unimaginably visual unfamiliarity. The New, what the page needs, as I’ve said so many times before. Was going to post some verse to this “blog.” BUT, no. The verses deserve better, frankly.. Maybe that’s the wrong way to put it.
The Chardonnay, now with a more believable tropical tango. Do I want to produce one, a Burgundy of mine own? No. But it is helping with the session. Little notepad in back pocket. Should really be writing pen2paper, but I for some reason find Self on keys. Tomorrow morning, need an early Barleycorn-esque sitting. Before I’m in that tasting Room, I want 2 standalone’s logged. Both, of poetry mold. And on that note: anymore, I just want to write song, verse, rhyme. Prose, beginning to push me into a black hole of expectedness. Not what I want. At all.
Want to be chained to my studio, like Kelly. Never being able to leave. Have the projects, their pieces, dominate me. Here I am wishing again. Boring. But I have to keep writing, letting you know what’s on my mind, if you’re interested. It’s writing. It’s always the Writing. Literary Autonomy. Like always.
At loss. Once more. May need a break from the page. Definitely the one typed. Again, just to convey what I’m encountering. What I’m encountering with the wine, now, more of a hushed peach/vanilla/orange lift. Interesting.. didn’t know Chardonnay was capable of making such shape. Maybe I should produce a Chardonnay, really follow in Katie’s steps. No way this could have gone through ML. And thanks to the Wine gods. Didn’t want another Chardonnay bottled apocalypse. And that very much could have happened, picking this with storming randomness from the shelf by the other white wines. Hoping I surprise mySelf, eventually. What if my label was to be 100% Chardonnay. Like five different Chardonnay projects, completely master the varietal. Tempting, but I’m not passionate enough about the varietal dance with that cuddled sway. Then, with this sip… More pear, green apple. What is this wine thinking, I’d like to know. Should be sipping this by a pool, in Spain. Or Florida. Actually, I think this would best pair with a resort in Costa Rica, with a view over an borderless jungle. My first plane, just days away. It has to be, at this point. I’ve written too much to just die another writer. Definitely over the amount to be mucilaged with the baboonish sobriquet of “blogger.” I’d sip this Alexander Valley white Dijon clone on its own. I don’t need food. Wouldn’t. This would be enough. Think I may have a new blip, serene on my wine screen. One more glass, before clocking out. Tomorrow morning, I’m hoping, won’t make me pay for this extra, generous, pour. I need songs FINISHED. And in little time. Sip, sip …