Sitting here, 6:47pm, a bit dizzied.  Wine, love.  “The industry,” only discord, disdain.  Love the Art, the bottle’s contents.  The selling, the protocol, the customer “service” … all anti-Art.  Can’t stand it anymore.  I’m going to be 34.  Thirty-bloody-four.  And I’m still not at Equilibrium.  I’m making wine, will always, especially after the rich meeting with Katie last night.  Tired of motions, commotion over occurrences meaningless.  Too old for it now, I’m seeing.  All Art.  That’s all I’m concerned with.  I have to laugh at these industry scuffles.  How you can take anything of this seriously, anything concerning wine’s industry element, loses me.  Always thinking of how I want my son to see me.  not weak, ever weakened by this petty commerce crowd.  And what’s in the author’s glass, ALE.  a Little Sumpin’.  Not in a wine mood.  And today’s, or tonight’s, goal.. blog all night.  Eventually this eve, I’ll touch the book, the little chap.  Prose, poem.  Going to Create way away from cage.  Sing to solitude.. sanity.  Outsiders are going to critique.  But I don’t respond.  They don’t warrant reaction.  They’re those buzzing bugs I can’t identify.  Roaming dogs, wild pigs that would rather I stay silent.  How dare I make wine, have passion for it, and write about it on blog, in book.

Someone I love more than most people on planet, advises me, frequently, to exercise discretion in these entries.  Have to say, I hear that as censorship advocation.  I’m 34.. haven’t I earned to the right, by now, to fully B me?  Aside, I’m realizing I can’t be “managed.” I’m a writer.  And with the censorship element, approach: Hemingway urges truth, honesty in writing.  And that’s one of the few cannonized authors I “follow.”  I’m putting all thoughts, reactions, thoughts, interpretations into earthly stream.  Right here.  Page, screen.  Me, not a single spin of fear.  Only Ambitionz.  Try to still a scribe like I, dare YOU.  Some will ask if I’m angry, depressed, if I had a bad day.  No.  I’m just again realizing Life’s curt course.  I have to be Self.  My son, not having a coward as a father.  I’m a penning soldier.  And I’m not freezing.  Only advancement.  Blitzkrieg.

Still not in mood for wine.  This beer, adding to character.  And I’m thinking, more introversion, for introspective excursion.  I’m Self-burdened, with these writings.  As it’s all I want to do.  Now, I’ve burned Self out, from these vents.  Dinner in oven, maybe I should open a wine.  From a NEW winery.  Just enjoy as Art, not something to critique, analyze, blog about.  Or even write about.  Can’t I just enjoy wine?  This devil industry has me thinking I need 2 take this grape juice seriously.

8:02pm.  Dinner.  Had 1 glass of ’10 Cab.  suspect I’ll have more.  Watching Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.  This film reminds me of summers in Sunriver, when I was quite young.  Staying in while parents would run errands, Kate at friend’s.  Realizing even then I loved MY me-time.  After this “post,”planning on writing in newJournal, playing a couple video game rounds.  Tonight, the ultimate bottledaux office simu-session.  Autonomy, need to ring it in.  Tired of orders, pattern, the expected.  How is that Life, just existing one day to next?  Met a character today, young lady, 27 if I acutely recall, that was sweet to points of me nearly breaking out notepad, scribbling everything she recited.  She was part of the wedding party.  Her soon-to-be sister-in-law, honor guest.  She told me how she loves wine, would love to one day own a vineyard, sell wine, know more about it.  True, her vocals could have been a bit eased, but so what?  Her name, Tiffany.  Can stop lift her conversation from recent cerebral storage.  Can still vision her grin, sound of that laugh.  Love character of Tiffany’s tone.  Useful.  She reminds me, through her situationality.  Need more of her role mold.  Reminds me of Kelly, though I haven’t connected with her in some time stack.  I blame Self.  Have too much going on, with this 40-hour wage wheel, atop the classes I’m teaching.  Have to take breaths.  Many of.  Need another pour of this ’10 Cab.  Tasting a little hot, but nice texture, palate presence.  Fruit’s a bit thin, but there.. nice airborne ambience.  I will have another.  And I deserve so, after this day’s dive.  Breaking to only come back to break soon after.  Rain, stopped.  Some storm.

Feel like I need to go out.  Not to drink, party.  But to find characters.  Today’s character catch, not leaving display.  Wish I could have written her, on site.  Why was she so interesting, you ask, searching for specifics.  I can’t give you any.  IT was her collective being, entity that held Literary value.  Loving this movie…  Want an adventure of own.  Seeing the Road, not being confined to any room.

Struggling to get to 1k.  Already 8:34p.  Time, bullying me, even after a day like this.  IT wants a fight, I can tell.  But it can’t beat me, as all a writer can do is write, live.  Thinking I need to get out.  It is Saturday night, and characters are out there.. ART.  Nothing in here, seemingly.  But I have to “work” tomorrow, be “responsible.” Games, to be played, enjoyed.  Seeing that now.  And wine’s supposed to be fun, isn’t it?  Shame on me, for speaking so freely.  Did I get approval for this?

Going to get 2nd course.  Need another glass.  Glad I’m slow sipping.  What scribes like I ride.

9:12pm.  Pretty soon, to edit.  Getting tired of the IJ film.  Do I go upstairs, fetch one of the writing movies?  Too lazy to go out.  What happens when you age, I’m finding.  But what if I did launch?  What would I find?  Now I don’t know what I’m thinking.  Had a deja vu, but not sure from what.  I blame the day, for my drained state.  Another glass poured, but it’s in kitchen.  Thinking I may fall to sleep early.  Need rest.  To put this day to rest.  That’s my compulsion.  But maybe I should resist it.  Of course I should, that’s the writer type I want to write, type.  Getting bored with session, which mean I need close.  IF I’m to write honesty, just want this day to be over.  And I’ll do so with another glass of wine.. REAL wine, wine with dimension, complexity, coherence, actual character.  Not riding historic, nature’s coattails.  Take that as you would, but I reserve and EXERCISE right to freely speak, not be censored.  I know everyone tells me to watch what I say, or not at all say.  But I’m me, devil.  A writer, FREE.  Sipping sequentially.  Hours being eaten by time’s rind.  And I can just watch, write.  At least I’m recording, still in seat.  Flights to other turns.  Needed, now, about.  So, diving into a Cabernet ray.  Different systems, solar’d.