paginated projection

At winery, all characters.  Wine Store owner from OH.  Screenwriter from NYC.  And, me.  I’m noticing my wine fervor intensifying with each shift, with each scribbled reaction.  And it makes me all more Literary.  No little notepad on person, this shift.  First time I’ve been unarmed in months.  Felt odd, but felt more Literary than most effort.  All I remember, what deserves page.  Did one cave tour, which never me bored.  I always tell people, what’s in that cave situates the truest of true wine elements.  And I just love being in there.  Won’t have a time to scribble in its confines, as I did the Lancaster cave, but even still I sit with impression.  Stewing, fermenting…

Hotter than I needed it to be today.  Why I’m sipping a Sierra Nevada artisan bottle. Tonight, my Friday night.  But, I work tomorrow, at St. Francis again.  Additionally, a winemaker meeting with none other than the little sis winemaking professor.  We’ll be having lunch at Café Citti.  Can’t even tell you how excited I am, to get even one step closer to my own label, and Katie’s and my collaborative project, MKCS.  IF I decide to sip any wine tonight, it’ll be the odd, very unique and seemingly whimsical blend I opened for some guests we just had.  An oeno-knot of Barbera, Petite Sirah, Syrah, Zinfandel, Sangiovese.  It still sits in its bottle, sans cork.  Feels hot in this Room of condo.  Do I need another cold?  Why not?  It’s my Friday, somewhat.  Can’t wait till that day where I’m in my office, with every night I’m home, and at “work,” being a “Friday.”

Returning to a notion.  The newsletter.  And quite bluntly, “why not?”, at this stage in the writer’s days.  Just to be more connected with readers.  As this “social” media “marketing” doesn’t seem to be working for my works.  I know, maybe I’m not doing it right, or I should seek help.  Excuse me?  When I could be writing, I should be allocating breaths to digitized intangibles, theoretical bloom paths?  Absurd.  I’m an Artist.  We don’t do that.

10:20pm.  A couple glasses of the red, later, I’m ready for song.  Total whimsicality in my  night’s writings.  Just typed, “…nightmare, I might fare if my plight’s spared; take a hike, where? ..” Just want to be on stage, like my new friend Risa, that I met yesterday on the wine club patio.  Thinking of travel.  Tonight’s locational vision: SPAIN.  And Portugal.  Performing my poetry.  Want to write there as well, of course.  But also do some wine research; taste varietals, as many as able, collect what I can in terms of collective, individual profile, profiles.  Moving a little slow, I won’t lie, right now.  Tomorrow, my meeting with Katie, I’m seeing as monumentally progressing.  So proud of my little sis, I can’t evade such truth.  And it’s really not that much a secret.

On family’s note, had Mom and Dad over last night for dinner.  Tasted some Austrian white, a Sonoma Bordeaux blend, then another Sonoma blend.  They lovingly cautioned me on the aggressive, often polemic content of my paragraphs.  I responded, respectfully, I’m acting with Artistic altruism.  I’m speaking against injustices in wine’s “industry.” How is that wrong?  And what’s the worst wine industry management, or even ownership can do to one from, still very much IN, the Literary world?  I’m incapable of living any other way; I’m impossible to harm, in even the most microscopic milieu.  I have to voice what’s swimming in my circulation.  that’s what I was raised 2do.  I’m a writer.  That’s what WE do.  And if consequences find me, and my son’s father is banished, from wine’s world or anywhere else, for speaking Self, for Autonomous thought, then I’ll soundly at night’s light sleep.  I’m a writer; and Artist Extremist.  The wine industry doesn’t frighten me.  At all.  If anything, I should it very much worry.  As this author doesn’t balk at anticipated fallout.  I just write.  And I don’t want conflict, that’s the paradox.  I just want truth.  Equilibrium.  The harmonious.  How is that objectionable?  We’re at the negotiating table.  Me, this “industry.” I’ll keep sipping this Barbera-based blend.  Projecting prose, poetry.  Peace …

(7/22/12, Sunday)