As many people are, watching the olympics.  Sipping the rest of that ’08 Cab.  Looking through the pictures I took today, how the grapes are racing towards their date.  Jackie, to bed early tonight.  Which means, early rise.  Alice seems to think, according to articles she’s read, that he’ll sleep longer.  I frankly have a hard time believing that, but, either way, I’m rooting for early rise, so I can get 1k out of the way before sun’s stay.  Met most goals on my hand-written objective list, for today.  The only ones that have yet be met: THE PRINTING.  Seems to be a bane against this penner’s gain.  Printing.  Tomorrow.  Something.  Not going to say I’ll run 10 pages for book, poetry collection.  Just promise to 1 page print.  That’s all, reader.  ONE.  PAGE.

The ’08 Kunde Drummond seems to have accumulated richness since its opening 24 hours ago.  Enjoy its avid devotion to its form, its event.  It’s above medals, accolades.  It humbly aims to greet, please palates.  Just poured the remainder.  Makes me think of travel, what I thought of driving back from the book store, only hours ago.  Had a vision of Mike taking an elevator to the hotel’s top floor, for cocktail hour, or something of like stroke.  He gets his glass of Sauv Blanc, one of three on the menu.  Walks around.  People approach with questions, he answers in short.  All he wants to do is listen to the rotating tracks, inhale elevated air.  The white bordeaux tastes more accented with down sun, on this high floor.  Mike, finally away from moving mouth motors, under their inquisitive streams, can enjoy the scene he’d seen since the flight over.  He was finally there, here.

I remember listening to Thievery, seeing what I saw when on the top floor of the Palms when in Vegas, ’03.  Or was it ’02…  No, it was 2003.  I’m sure as I had to be in class [grad school] on May 29th, my birthday, after a gloriously deep 5-hour nap in my San Ramon apartment.  I remember being horribly tired, still.  With a sleep hangover.