On Road, I’d argue with the ocean, when I’m on my Room’s balcony, staring at the wave beats. It’d tell me to relax, I’d contest I want to write to its momentum, its sight. Maybe ‘argue’’s the wrong word, but we’d have some kind of words. Relaxed. Doing my 2 mile run in morning, or at least I plan2. Opened an ’09 Merlot from AV Winery’s distributed label. Miss my days there a bit, honestly. The quiet, the seclusion, the wine obviously. I’ll read what I can, tonight, but I’m in writing mode, so I can’t guarantee too much. Back in Room, morrow. Running as well after shift. Maybe the Lawndale jaunt– No, not ready for that. Maybe something in Annadel. Or Spring Lake. Something significant, sightly, self-propelling.
A little wind outside.. gullible gusts, doing what skies tell them. May add material to book. Poems only. Why not? I don’t want to be planned, organized– hinting blusters tossing the door ornament side2side, tinny chatter, not caring what I do, long as I write. Reading more of Plath’s work, as the semester draws closer. Her esoteric allusions, obscure patois, argot.
Opened Merlot, about 20 minutes ago. Letting it breathe, open independently of my pending needs– See? Should be solely into the poetry. [put that into comp book] Hungry. Haven’t eaten that much today, really. Really haven’t had the chance, from racking barrels to watching little Kerouac. So glad I moved my wine around, had it breathe some fresh atmosphere before being in wooden incarceration for the next 16 months or so. Can’t wait till they’re both bottled. But, the writer has to learn patience if he wanteth to make vino.
Goal for tonight: add/type 1 poem into book. Think I already know which one I want to rack into doc, but I’m going to look into a couple other barrels, first.
9:11pm. This Merlot, making me want to drive over to winery, taste mine, see if it’s even close. “Close to what?” I ask Self. I don’t know, close to something I’d enjoy drinking as much as this. Tasted it with Blair today, right out of tub. He liked it, even raising brows, saying “Mmm, that’s good.” Just the .9 VA worries me a bit. Think it’s at .9. Would text Katie, but she’s on Road. Or ‘at sea’. In Portugal. And Blair, he has to be on Estate much earlier than I, AND he has a baby, so calling him’s out. And I wouldn’t anyway. He jotted the numb’s on little post-it’s, which I put on desk’s top upstairs.. I’m just too lazy to go now them fetch.
Want another glass of this Merlot, just to see what it’s saying now, 15 minutes postliminarily. Wine CAN change that fast. Will have a glass in a minute or two, just want to push these types to something towering, if I can. Making another Merlot, this vintage. What can I do different? Maybe two rackings, 20 months of oak, and only topping with Bordeauxs. Don’t want to get ahead of mySelf, have to see what the vintage delivers to the writer.
Interesting that WordPress would use the Capote quote, “Sometimes when I think how good my book can be, I can hardly breathe.” Book… This is a BLOG hosting site. Now, I’M ashamed. Fleeing to my Comp Book, real writing. This, my last post for day.. and yes, I realized I didn’t capitalize ‘this’. Don’t care. This is a blog, secondary to ACTUAL projects.