Just finished a verse. Need to complete songs, with this spoken word. Tonight, today, my Friday. But it doesn’t feel so. Why? Not sure. Met a nice couple today, on my only Mountaintop Tour & Tasting. Spent a little longer with them than I usually do, as they were Human, genuinely interested in wine, the estate. And, I just enjoyed their presence. Why can’t they all be like that? Frankly, I’m glad they’re not. Because then, I wouldn’t value those like Brad & Michelle. On couch, now, after verse fruition. Sipping what’s left of my blend pour. No need to specify vintage, varietal composition. Pinot tasting, still on4Tuesday evening. Can’t let Self stay long, as I need the novel’s draft DONE before Monterey departure.
That tour around estate 2day, with Brad and Michelle, taunted me.. to connect with wine’s elements more palpably. Hoping the rain returns, so my sentences invade more coarsely. This glass, showing distinguished notes. [Hate that word, “distinguished.” Not sure Why..] Each little harmony in the wine’s expansive nature shows voice, color, a certain confessional measure. Hope my Merlot shows with such show. Just took another sip.. engrossing. Love the soft presence, the phenolically [did I spell that right? .. Don’t care.] burrowing quality. Just the type of wine whoso–again, my label– would wield. Starting to tire, not feeling much like the page, or screen, much more.
The new device, annoying me. Already have more photos than I should, for not having “backed-up.” What a silly suggestion, “backing-up.” How is that secure, relying on another piece of tech to protect in event of another tech piece’s failure? Funny, really. Concentration, crumbling. Off to sleep, pages by person. Obsessed, Self-stressed– Need to go by store again, see if there’s a chance to recover those old pictures of Mr. Jack.
Just noticed 1 more blend’s drop in glass. How did that get by my radar? Note from little pages: “Man working for city, water and waste water.” Citing to man making burritos that ‘It’s a job’, that he doesn’t mind furloughs but hates how management continues to maintain security, get pay raises. Couldn’t restrain sympathy, empathize with his stride. But pitied his plight, position. [11/18/12]
11/19/12. Learned a lot today, just by happenstance. Saving for novel’s end, for my character’s forward. Currently, in instructor’s lounge. Know I’m going to be interrupted at any moment. Not prepared for lecture, or as “prepared” as I’d like. Wonder how many students are showing up. This is a holiday week, isn’t it? Thought about taking the night off, but chained Self to responsibility’s anchor. Have 2 Comp books out on this long rectangular table in room’s back. 1, mine. Other, for class. How is it that November’s nearly over? Time, landing another shake. More honesty, with this acceleration of time’s sprint at my immediacy.
And in being honest, I need to have this draft DONE by Thursday morning. Then, begin another book. They’ll keep streaming. My vow to Self. Get away from this technology, these devilish blogs. Revolving in my rhetoric.. target practice. And I’m not relenting. Refusing 2B dominated by industry. Artists, we hate sleep, almost as much as strings.
Want to go online, use the college’s public wifi, but I don’t trust it. If this were 90 years ago, I’d only be on paper. No worry of device tampering. Hate this cage. Tempted to off-log.. but I like the sounds of these buttons being beaten.
6:28p. Should start planning class. Giving Self 3 more minutes. Want to write about.. not sure. Thinking of my wine, from last year. And the Merlot I just put into barrel. What are they doing right now, both? More and more serious about my own label. Want the element of Literature more blended into my “branding.” A Literary approach to wine.. the character in the bottle rather than the “nuances” one can list. It bothers me when people come in the tasting Room, sip, and say something to tunes of “I don’t know if I’m using the right words to describe it.” The “right” words, I always think. Wine isn’t meant to be an assignment, an evaluative measure, barometer’d in any way. It’s Art.. It’s there to sip, enjoy. Yes, at some point you make a judgement, deciding whether or not you like what you’re tasting.. but that’s what the wine’s about: YOU. Your taste, your fondnesses.
6:33. Have to prepare. Jot notes. Would rather talk about wine, its parallelisms with Lit. Can’t have what I want, so I’m rattling. Hissing. Quills. When home tonight, revisiting that blend. See what it says to the writer, this 2nd night.